


Hearthfire

by CursedAesahaettr



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, M/M, Tomoichi Sato lovingly borrowed from Playchoices, other characters to be tagged as they become relevant, set during the main story line but not centered on the dovahkiin bc that would get boring yeah?, some creative liberties taken with the size of the province and layout of the cities, the life and times of two endangered nerds trying to find the rest of their people, title subject to change at some point, with occasional intermissions starring my other ocs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2019-11-09 02:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17993306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CursedAesahaettr/pseuds/CursedAesahaettr
Summary: For centuries the Snow Elves at the Temple of Syrabane have existed in seclusion for fear of extinction. Ralyanis has served as a member of the Temple Guard to defend her people from the dangers that threaten their mountain home, and her closest companion Virizion has dedicated his life to preserving their people's culture. But with the deformed Falmer becoming an increasing threat merely surviving in their sanctuary is no longer an option. Though it goes against every code meant to protect their kind, they flee the mountains with the grand hope of finding a changed world willing to take in the remnants of the once proud race. A myriad of challenges await them, but they'll face down legions if it means the survival of their race.





	1. First Steps

“I will not forgive you if we find trouble in this place.” Ralyanis looks past her companion to the old fort ahead of them, carved stone walls that must have once housed a great army now left in the uncaring hands of nature. She would never have given the structure a second glance in any other situation, but she spied hide tents on the wooden scaffolding among the derelict ruins. A clear sign that someone still resided within.

Virizion, with his endless optimism, keeps at his steady stride towards the fort’s entrance. “I'm certain we will. And if we live through it I won’t complain if you remind me every day after. But these are the first intelligent beings we’ve come across since leaving the caves. With any luck, or perhaps by the grace of the gods, they’ll be willing to help us.”

"And how do you intend on asking as much from them?” She stops him with a firm hand to his chest. They stand at the edge of the tree line. If they so chose, the two could disappear in seconds and leave the fort and its eerie promise of contact with other people behind them. “We can't be certain they speak the same languages as us. They live in the wilds, in a crumbling fortress where they can defend themselves from anything they perceive as a threat. How inviting. Surely they will send us away with nothing to show for our efforts, if not swords at our backs.”

"Then we shall give as good as we get, won’t we dear friend?” The smile he gives her before pressing on mollifies her. It isn’t one born of over confidence; rather, Virizion knows fully well the dangers ahead and recognizes that they came with the decision they made to leave behind their home.

Her heart still beats swiftly as she keeps pace behind him, bow in hand with an arrow nocked as a precaution. When they come within twenty feet of the fort’s entrance a harsh voice calls out above them. The words fall on non-fluent ears, but the meaning rings like a clear day and the two halt. On the archway above the gates a man in tarnished armor surveys them, making a motion for another at his side to leave him. Virizion hazards a step forward and the man calls out again, drawing a sword from its sheath.

Virizion raises empty hands, dipping his head in a display of submission. He clears his throat, brows drawn as he considers his course of action. When he speaks Ralyanis recognizes the slight distinction between their own and the ancient language of the Ayleids. “ _We are peaceful travelers. We mean no harm. We seek shelter and food, if it can be spared._ ”

The lack of a response makes it obvious that the man doesn’t understand them. From the gate a pair of his companions emerge with weapons drawn to approach them. The leader speaks briefly with another in simple robes in the same throaty language. The thought dawns on her that these are likely Nords, descendants of those who had driven her people away. They hardly impress, caked in dirt and wearing flimsy leathers about them. One of the men reaches for Ralyanis’ bow and she flinches back.

"Keep away from me.” Too late she recognizes that the venom in her voice does little to help their situation. A woman with her bow drawn wearing full armor doesn’t suit the nonviolent message they’re trying to get across. Virizion gives her a pointed stare while stepping between her and the men.

” _We are peaceful_ ,” He reiterates, this time in a broken attempt at ancient Nordic. “ _We need food. We will leave if_ -”

One man, with graying chin hairs that fall to his collarbone, cuts him off with a huff. His tone seems less of anger and more of annoyance, at least. What little relief she feels at this sinks when the leader calls out again, and his men move behind them to usher them forward with the points of their swords. With few choices left the two elves comply. They’re lead past the fort’s gates where the robed man awaits them among a small handful of others. In each of his hands lays a set of wrought iron manacles.

Ralyanis seeks Virizion’s eyes and an understanding passes between them. She makes to put away her bow in feigned obedience, and in the same instant that Virizion weaves an arcane conduit into existence Ralyanis strikes behind her with the flashing edge of a silver dagger from her belt. Crimson streaks along her face as the man she struck grasps his neck, but she moves fluidly to lay waste to his companion while Virizion conjures an ice wraith into existence, setting its serpentine form of frost and fury upon the Nords within the fort. With a short sword in hand the remaining man behind them holds his own against her meager dagger, though only for a few brief seconds before her partner grapples his sword arm, leaving him open to a clean strike.

Shouts of terror and fury ring out as the two flee towards the trees, but by the time their pursuers finish off the wraith and can make chase the elves are gone.

* * *

Night falls before the two take shelter under a rocky outcropping. Neither dares to light a fire for fear of being spotted by the men they fled from, and they sup on what remains of the dried elk they brought from the safety of their home rather than venture out and hunt. No words are shared, except to exchange watch while they gather an hour of rest each. Exhausted as they are, Virizion insists that they put as much distance as they can between them and the humans that tried to take them captive.

After their two hours of rest they begin their trek again, though at a slower pace in the dark and unfamiliar woods. The miles blur together, with little of note except a lone wolf that pays its fresh kill more mind than it does them.

By the time the sun begins to rise once more they happen upon a site of great destruction. Where the fort they previously encountered had deteriorated over many years, the stone walls and charred buildings before them were destroyed recently. When Ralyanis makes to push aside a fallen log it disintegrates under her touch, and burnt bodies lie rotting in the streets.

“What could have caused this?” Virizion utters the words as a whisper, as though afraid to disturb the scene of a thorough slaughtering.

They make their way towards the far side of the settlement where a solid stone structure sits. Unlike the rest of the town it seems to have suffered minimal damage in the attack given its sturdy nature, but it too has no shortage of corpses surrounding it. A wooden door leading inside sits off its hinge, so they slip inside to salvage what they can and hopefully gain insight into what happened. Most of what they make out to be food stores has been picked clean, and what remains has rotten or been chewed through by vermin. They resign themselves to hunting once they leave the area. Amidst the barren furnishings Ralyanis finds a leather bound book, written in a script she can barely discern as having roots in Ayleidoon and Nordic. A couple of words on the book’s first page can be translated, but the meaning of its passages eludes her. Despite this, the discovery lifts her spirits. With this to study she might make progress in understanding the language spoken by the people of the area.

When the two regroup at the building’s entrance they catch the sound of scuffling feet in the distance which sets them immediately on edge. Ralyanis half expects Virizion to make another attempt at contact, but the memory of nearly becoming captives must still be fresh in his mind for he leads them swiftly towards the gate farthest from the source of the sound to leave the smoldering fortress behind.

From here the mountains slope away, allowing a broad view of the forest ahead of them and a glimmering lake beyond it. They decide on the lake as their next destination, knowing that any source of water will attract creatures to it. Half a day’s travel changes the landscape around them, with white-capped hills giving way to tall fir trees and dusty trails rather than tracks in the snow. By the time they break away to hunt for the night’s meal the only white that remains in view are each other and the distant glimpses of snowy mountain tops they make out through the trees.

It isn’t until they make camp near a shrine of intricately carved stones that Virizion breaks the silence that persisted between them since leaving the Nordic fort. “I’m sorry for my error in judgement.”

Ralyanis is slow in reacting to him, setting aside the book she’d found to face her friend. His focus is elsewhere, the orange flicker of their campfire in his eyes as he stares out across the nearby lake. “You did as you thought best. And you kept them from overrunning us. It was naive and foolish, but we persevered.”

"That it was.” He shakes his head, a grim smile tucked into his collar. “When I thought about journeying to the outside world I envisioned myself as a perfect diplomat. I didn’t even conceive that there might still be so much hatred among the humans.”

"Neither of us could have known what we would face.” Ralyanis stands to cross the pebbled shore until the water lapped at her ankles. “Plans will go astray, and we’ll make mistakes. That's why you brought me along, is it not?” She turns to look at him over her shoulder, relieved to see a brighter shine in his smile. “Look at this place, Viri. The entirety of Syrabane’s temple could fit on the surface of this lake. And we’ve only just begun our journey.”

The crunch of shifting stones signals her friend moving to her side. “I suppose if all goes terribly we could make a home here. Become simple fishermen.”

She chuckles at the thought of either of them settling into a simple life by the water. It didn’t sound much better than the fate their people had resigned themselves to in the mountainous sanctuary. But at least here they would be free. There would be none of their deformed brethren encroaching on their territory, and there would be the promise of interaction with the other races of the world. The view wasn’t half bad, either.

"That can come at a later day. We shouldn’t give up before we've begun after all. Get some rest, friend. I’ll take first watch.” Ralyanis pats his arm before moving to retrieve her bow and quiver. The last of the sun’s warm hues bleed from the sky as she settles in at the edge of their camp, daring any creature to disturb the peace they deserved.

 


	2. Barrier

The next Nordic settlement the pair of wandering Snow Elves come across is much livelier than the charred ruins from before. Its inhabitants are also less hostile than the last group they had the misfortune of encountering. Nords of many ages and sizes mill about the streets of the riverside village, most offering little more than curious looks or words of what Ralyanis hopes are greeting.

They pass wooden buildings crafted in a fashion that seems crude to her, and the few shops they find have signs depicting what each trades in. In a land where the native language escapes them it’s a small blessing.

All while they wander the streets in search of a place to rest or a seat of leadership to inquire at the townsfolk watch their every step - or so it feels to Ralyanis, still remembering the hostility they faced before. But only one citizen attempts to hold a conversation with them, a Bosmeri man. He is the first of his kind they’ve met in the town, and it’s increasingly likely that the three of them make up the town's elven population.

At first the man seems content to greet them, and with their respectful nods in lieu of a verbal greeting in return. He lingers a moment afterwards watching while Virizion attempts, rather horribly, to draw some comparison between the modern script of a shop’s sign and any of the few languages of man he was taught at the temple. Just before Ralyanis becomes convinced her companion lacks a talent for linguistics the elven stranger speaks once more. The sound of his words is different from what she recalls the Nords speaking, his accent drifting into a reedier tone that appeals to her ears. More importantly, she’s able to understand a scrap of the vocabulary he uses despite its delineation from its Aldmeris roots. It’s enough to put together a rough translation: “Can I help you?”

“We are travelers.” Virizion is quicker to reply, having reached the same conclusion. Neither of them are perfectly fluent with the language of the Altmer, which they both agreed when planning their journey would likely be the most widely spoken of the elven languages. He stumbles over his words at first before regaining his confidence. By supplementing the gaps with bits of Aldmeris he manages to make the stranger understand him. “We need a place to rest. And we wish to speak with your king.”

“My king?” The elf echoes the words a few times. Ralyani shares a worried look with her companion, which fades away when the stranger seems to finally grasp the meaning. “You are new to this land. You seek the Jarl; more like a lord than royalty. He lives in Whiterun. A day’s travel north by horse. But you can rest at the Sleeping Giant.”

Virizion looks briefly relieved, then frowns. “This will sound strange. We have no money. At least, no money that will be accepted.”

“Oh,” The stranger pauses, considering his words. “I can help. I can pay for a night, and see what else can be done.”

“Thank you.” Virizion gives him a polite smile and the two fall into step with the stranger as he leads them through the town. He introduces himself as Faendal, and they introduce themselves in turn. Faendal offers up what information he can about the surrounding area, a quarter of which gets lost in translation. His assumption that the two are newly immigrated to the land, Skyrim, makes sating their curiosity less embarrassing. They learn the town’s name, Riverwood, and those of local shop keeps that might be lenient with their prices or otherwise accommodate their lack of gold currency, which they also learn are sometimes called septims.

Before long they reach a wide wooden building and filter in through the doors into a modest hall. A wave of warmth washes over Ralyanis that she hasn’t felt in days - all-encompassing around her body and not merely a font of warmth from a meager campfire - and she instinctively drifts closer to the hearth in the center of the room. A handful of humans populate the room, some young and others old, some who greet them courteously and others with sneers. She returns a greeting to the room at large by parroting the unfamiliar words; it seems to be enough, for the crowd returns to its business shortly after. Faendal leads them to a counter where a man serves a drink to one of his patrons. Their guide speaks to the barkeep in the native tongue, all of which escapes her grasp except the mention of her name and Virizion’s. While the two speak a woman approaches from a side room to chime in. Her expression, with bright, narrow eyes accompanied by a slight frown, sets at war two feelings of calm and discomfort in Ralyanis.

The woman suddenly calls down into a nearby cellar. A name it turns out, as a moment later a young man emerges carrying a crate full of bottles. She motions between him and the two Snow Elves and says something they unfortunately can’t understand, and then departs for the main door without a word to the latter two.

While Ralyanis gives her friend a look of impatience another brief exchange passes between Faendal and the humans. The younger man passes by them to relieve himself of his cargo, and Faendal returns his attention to Ralyanis and Virizion at last. “My apologies. Delphine is the woman who left, and the owner of the inn. She has agreed to let you stay for one week if you work for her during that time, and to pay you each five gold a day. She…”

The pause stretches for an uncomfortable amount of time, and Virizion motions for him to continue. “She will also accompany you to Whiterun if you desire it. A group of traders will be going in a caravan at the week’s end, and she intends for you three to journey with them. But she is curious as to your business with the Jarl. She will want to speak on the matter before you leave.”

Virizion nods, squaring his shoulders. “We understand. Will you be staying here with us?”

“I cannot. I have work to attend at the mill.” Faendal’s lips curve into an apologetic smile. He motions across the hall to the young man he’d just spoken with. “But Tomoichi will keep you company. He is fluent in Altmeris, which should be more familiar to you. Unfortunately his accent is a bit boorish.”

Ralyanis surprises herself by laughing at the thought. The sound is striking against the quiet of the inn, and it catches the attention of a few patrons as well as that of their new guide who was just returning. Tomoichi speaks with Faendal in their foreign tongue, thought he glances toward her. Unbidden, her ears begin to burn. She bids farewell to their Bosmeri friend and steels herself for whatever duties Delphine has appointed to them.

* * *

The river is cold as ice where her feet rest submerged to the ankle. In the shadow of night the chill bites to her bones, but it’s worth the soothing relief after a long day of running around Riverwood doing errands. Minnows flit by her toes, their scales shimmering under the light of the moons high in the sky. The sight of the peaceful riverbed brings back memories of the glades surrounding the Temple of Syrabane, memories she’s saved from reliving by the sound of footsteps approaching.

“It’s peaceful over here. I hope I’m not intruding.”

Ralyanis shakes her head. She makes room on the small pier and motions for the newcomer to join her. “I don’t mind company.”

“I’m honored.” Tomoichi settles beside her with a smile, one leg bent to rest on the dock while the other dangles just above the surface of the stream. “It’s a wonderful spot for fishing. When the mill isn’t running, anyway. Ja’irzu brought me here once insisting I learn to catch something more than a water skirter.”

She wracks her brain to put a face to the name. Since their arrival three days before Tomoichi introduced them to a few of his close friend in Riverwood; if memory serves right, Ja’irzu is the large, striped Khajiit, kind and soft spoken despite his imposing figure. He gave them extra fish when he’d learned they had no money when they arrived in town. That was when she decided she liked him.

“My aunt taught me.” Ralyanis says, pulling her feet from the icy river. “There is a lake near her home and she rows out with her neighbors to trawl the shallows with a great net when the weather is warm.”

Beside her Tomoichi makes a soft sound. She and Virizion have remained stalwartly private about their origins, so she doesn’t blame him for being curious. “That sounds idyllic. No wonder you were drawn to Riverwood. With the White River and Lake Ilinalta nearby you could fish to your heart’s content.”

Ralyanis can’t help mirroring his smile, though hers is tinged with exasperation in contrast to the teasing gleam in his eye. “I am no fisher.”

“Are you certain? I’m sure Ja’irzu would happily take you on as an apprentice.”

“I am very sure.” She faces away from him with a laugh. “Besides, Virizion and I have plans. There won’t be time to settle down any time soon.”

“Plans.” He looks at her, waiting to catch her eye. “And what would those involve, if I may ask?”

She grows quiet. The river below trickles on, bubbling softly. “You may ask. But it's not my decision alone on whether I can share them.”

He shifts on the pier, his body turned towards her. “Of course. I’m sorry or prying.”

“Ralyanis!”

They both sit at attention and watch as Virizion crosses the footbridge to approach them. The expression on his face is tense. Determined. Ralyanis excuses herself to join her friend. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no there’s nothing wrong.” He spares a glance over her shoulder at Tomoichi. When he speaks against it’s in their native tongue. _“I think it’s time we speak with Delphine.”_

_“You think we can trust her?”_

Virizion purses his lips. _“Not with everything. I’ve seen the way she watches us; there is something more to her offer to help. But she holds authority. The people of this town respect her. The Nord king - the Jarl - likely respects her, too. We stand a better chance at gaining his aid with her sponsorship.”_

 _“And if she doesn’t do us any good while in his court?"_   Ralyanis folds her arms.

 _“Another reason to limit what we share."_   He heaves a sigh and begins to step past her. “Tomoichi, we require your assistance.”

Their human companion looks up in surprise. He rises from his seat to join them. “How can I help?”

“We need to speak with Delphine about our business in Whiterun.”

“And you need me to interpret.” Tomoichi gives him a smile. “I’d be happy to. She was out to meet with Lucan when I was at the inn last. She should be back by now; if not, it won’t be a long wait.”

They convene at the Sleeping Giant Inn to await Delphine’s return. True to his word, the innkeeper arrives a short time later with a look of content on her face that disappears when she sees the trio rise to meet her. She gives them a polite greeting before speaking with Tomoichi. After he explains the situation she beckons them to follow her into her bedroom, shutting the door behind them. Virizion hovers near the doorway, hesitant to begin. Too late, he finds himself cut off by her while he gathers his words and he falls silent to await Tomoichi’s translation.

“What business do you have so dire that you would seek out the Jarl directly? Especially given your complete lack of fluency in one of the most commonly spoken languages in all of Tamriel.”

Though Tomoichi’s neutral tone betrays no accusation, Ralyanis bristles at her words, true though they may be.

“The matter of fluency is part of our desire to speak with him.” Virizion remains calm under her scrutiny. “We seek information of many kinds. A man in a seat of power has wider access to this information, and we hope he will be merciful in sharing it with those who seek his aid.”

Delphine listens intently as the message is translated. She takes a moment to absorb the information before continuing. “I have little doubt Jarl Balgruuf would provide what you seek to the best of his abilities if he deigns to trust you. But I do wonder if he should. A war is raging in Skyrim, and the Jarl is caught at the center of the conflict, the last neutral party. And while I highly doubt you hold allegiance to the Stormcloaks, how can anyone be sure you aren’t working for the Thalmor?”

This gives Virizion pause, and Ralyanis notices a frown beginning to pull at Tomoichi’s expression. She didn’t receive as broad of an education as her friend at the temple, but she was always an avid student in regards to history; she was an adamant believer that knowing the past was the best way to prevent the repetition of tragedies. But the names provided, “Stormcloak” and “Thalmor” aren't ones she’s heard from her lessons, and the former she’d only heard of in passing during their stay in the town.

“Primarily because we do not know who or what they are.”

But Delphine seems far from placated by his explanation. “Anyone could claim as much. I’m still not thoroughly convinced there isn’t more to your story, but I’ll let the Jarl decide for himself if you pose a threat.”

She dismisses them to return to her work before the last word have left Tomoichi’s lips, and Virizion stands stunned staring at the space she occupied. Ralyanis spares a glance at her friend and takes the chance to slip out of the inn with purposeful steps. When footsteps sound from behind her she expects Virizion to join her in her frustration, but when she turns to face her company at the town’s gate it’s Tomoichi rushing to keep up.

“You shouldn’t wander alone at night. There are a lot of wolves in the area.” The torch in his hand glows bright, casting a flickering, warm light over their faces.

Ralyanis wants to be upset, which shouldn’t be difficult at the present, but can’t bring herself to tell him off. “What will you do, scream at the beasts until they leave? You don’t have a weapon.”

“Neither do you.”

It would be so easy to chase him off. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a stubborn man?”

He smiles in that infernal way that’s too infectious to resist. “All the time.”

“Fine.” Ralyanis lets out a sigh and turns away. “We’ll stay near the town.”

In the end they wander far enough upstream to have privacy, but close enough that they can just make out the guards atop Riverwood’s gate. Tomoichi finds a place on the rocky shore of the river to prop up his torch. She can feel him watching her while she paces up and down the shoreline. It’s irritating, but at least he hasn’t asked how she feels. She isn’t sure she could put those feelings to words anyway. Eventually the need to let out her frustration becomes too great and she kicks a spray of pebbles into the stream.

“I don’t think those rocks ever did anything to you.”

Ralyanis spins on her heel to glare at him. At first the sheepish look he gives her is satisfying, but the feeling doesn’t last long. She walks over to lower herself down beside him. “I’m sorry. You’re right, that was childish and petty and…”

His shoulder brushes against hers. “It’s okay. You two are in an odd situation. Most elves weren’t exactly beloved in Skyrim _before_ the war, and the Thalmor have given themselves their nasty reputation of doing whatever it takes to get on everyone’s nerves. I can’t imagine how it must be for a pair of foreign Altmer to stumble into this mess.”

She stares across the river into the dark thicket beyond. Should she correct him? Virizion never explicitly told him or Delphine what they are. Callous as Delphine has been, Ralyanis trusts Tomoichi more every day they spend together. It feels wrong to ask so much of him and yet continue to lie, even by omission. “I'm not an Altmer.”

“Oh, o-of course! I shouldn’t have assumed as much.” When she looks up at him there’s a heavy flush in his cheeks. “Does that mean you’re a Dunmer? Or should I not ask? I wouldn’t be surprised, I’ve met a Dunmeri man with eyes like-”

“No.” Ralyanis glances over her shoulder, a hand bunched in the fabric of her tunic. “Virizion and I aren’t any type of elf you would have met before. Not unless the Jarl or otherwise know more about our kind than we do. That is part of why we haven’t told anyone where we come from.”

Tomoichi grows quiet beside her. The flush in his cheeks has drained away, embarrassment replaced by a curious stare. “If it’s that important you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“But I do want to.” She pulls her lower lip between her teeth. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me since we arrived. And I don’t want to keep hiding who I am. But… If I tell you this, you cannot share this information with anyone. Not with Delphine, not with your friends. Not even with your kin. And Virizion can never learn that I told you without his agreement.”

“I’ll carry it to my grave.” His voice is firm, and a mix of resolve and pride shine in his eyes. “Yours isn’t the first dire secret I’ve been asked to keep. Of course, I can’t tell you about those.”

A smile creeps onto her face. “Naturally. Alright, I’ll tell you.” She takes a deep breath and finds it shudders in her chest. She can never go back from this decision. “Virizion and I are Falmer. Snow Elves. Some of the last of our kind.”

Tomoichi looks understandably confused, and slowly realization dawns on him. He stares slack-jawed as he struggles to form a reply. “You… How? They… But you look… I-I thought you were all… You know…”

“Deformed.” Ralyanis closes her eyes. So her brethren have journeyed this far from their caverns. Given the extent of their expansion since her youth she can’t even pretend to be surprised. “Most of us are, thanks to the Dwemer. My ancestors were lucky to have a haven safe from the ancient Nord’s wrath, and we struggle everyday to safeguard our race from extinction. As a consequence we were sequestered far from civilization. We learned too late of the Dwemer’s treachery, and watched with despairing hearts as the disfigured shades of our people encroached on our sanctuary over the centuries.”

“I know it’s little consolation but… Know that you have my sympathies.” He rests his hand over hers, larger and warmer than her own. After a moment she settles her other hand over his.

“Thank you. We risked a great deal leaving our home. But the risk was worth it knowing there are those kind enough to help us, like Faendal and Ja’irzu. And especially you.”

“It’s no trouble, really. Talking with you is a pleasure. I’m just happy you put up with me.”

She smiles up at him, relieved to see he looks as bashful as she feels. “So now you know our big secret. It feels like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.”

“I bet. It sounds like a good opportunity to head back and share a drink.” Tomoichi takes a hold of her hand and begins to stand up. “I’ll buy this time.”

Ralyanis hums her agreement. “What a gentleman.”

They walk in comfortable silence with the light of a torch and the moons to guide them. It isn’t until they reach the steps to the inn that she realizes their hands are still joined, but she doesn’t mind a bit.


	3. Anticipation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's definitely shorter than last chapter, but I'm content with it. We make our first PoV shift to Virizion. The plan presently is to do two chapter switch ups with sporadic dips into side characters to keep things fresh.
> 
> Alternate title: Virizion Is Actually Me When Deadlines Approach

When dawn breaks on their final day in Riverwood the town is already buzzing with activity. According to their new friend the local merchants make a journey to Whiterun once a season to take advantage of the capital city’s trade route access and stay up to date on the latest news and trends. Even in the harshest months they always return with a modicum of success, and so those who remain in Riverwood do everything they can to assist those making the journey. Ja’irzu gravitates to the mill to carry lumber to the caravan of carts that line the town’s main road. A redguard woman named Taziri helps the general trader’s sister, Camilla, onto the leading cart. They both bid the latter woman’s two admirers away with sing-song voices.

All this Virizion watches unfold from the porch of the Sleeping Giant. The affair, filled with longing looks and what sounds to his untrained ears like well wishes, reminds him of the yearly Hunts his people participated in at their mountain sanctuary. Half of every able-bodied elf under Syrabane’s protection would join the Hunt and disappear into the mountains for weeks at a time, to return with enough prey to feed the temple’s population for months. Unfortunately the frequency of Falmer attacks halted this practice years ago. Virizion had never joined a Hunt, preferring to remain at the temple, but Ralyanis believed it to be the highest honor to accept the call to arms. Perhaps the humans of Riverwood viewed their seasonal trips in the same reverent light.

From behind him Delphine’s voice calls out. He straightens his posture, primed to follow an order, until he realizes she was speaking to her barkeep, Orgnar. She steps out of the inn with Tomoichi and Ralyanis in tow. The two whisper to each other, both looking eager for the trip. The sight puts a smile on his face. Virizion would have to be blind not to see the change in his friend’s demeanor when the two are together. For almost three centuries Ralyanis knew only the companionship of other Snow Elves, a quarter of which were related to her in some manner or another. The opportunity to share tales with someone unfamiliar to her must be refreshing. And if a cloak of dread wasn’t draped over his shoulders Virizion would likely share in her eagerness to see the capital city and all of its inhabitants.

After all, traveling to a foreign land was one thing on its own. Entreating its leader for mercy and land enough for an entire populace was another.

“Viri, it’s time to go.” He shakes away his idle thoughts and turns to Ralyanis. She watches him close trying to read his expression. But if she sees in his eyes the doubt he carries she spares him the embarrassment of pointing it out. “We’ll be in the leading cart with the merchants.”

He nods and follows her down to the caravan. Delphine takes her position in the driver’s seat and Tomoichi sits near the back of the cart to save space for them. Virizion takes the offered hand to climb into the seat across from him, followed shortly by Ralyanis who settles in at Tomoichi’s side. The cart drivers call out to each other and he watches the streets fill with residents shouting out to the band of merchants as the wagons crawl through town towards the northern gate. The early hour means the sun hasn’t yet risen above the peak of the mountains to the east, casting a soft, dreamy glow over the riverside path they travel down. And while he may not be eager for the journey’s end, Virizion is content to enjoy the beauty of nature around him.

In the mountains surrounding the Temple of Syrabane the snows seldom melt to reveal the wealth of green beneath them except in the height of summer. Even then much of the frost remains in the cover of shadow, and the hardy plant life pales in comparison to the forest around him now where the snow melt receded months before. Light rainfall from a few days prior has coaxed new life in to a variety of wild flowers beside the road. He wishes his brother, Athkaris, could see these amazing new sights.

For the first few hours Virizion tries to memorize the path the caravan takes, though it becomes clear by midday that the road to Whiterun is surprisingly straightforward. If any side trails exist they’re too well hidden for him to notice from his vantage point. So he turns his attention to the colorful passengers around him who have slowly become more energetic as the day progresses. They chatter together in their native tongue - aptly named Tamrielic for its widespread influence - and occasionally Tomoichi offers a translation for the two Snow Elves, mostly at Ralyanis’ prompting. Taziri’s youngest sister, Favi, awaits her in Whiterun after being away in the eastern capital of Riften for more than a year. Camilla plans to spend time with a family friend and enjoy the distance from an overbearing brother and the constant attention from Sven and Faendal. At this Virizion jokingly advises she remain in Whiterun permanently, which earns a laugh from all of them. Even Delphine admits that she has personal business in town, informing the three of them that she won’t be staying with her charges after their audience with the Jarl. Virizion tries not to sound relieved when he passes on his regards to her wishes, but something tells him she notices it anyway.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise after such camaraderie when they ask after his plans beyond their meeting in Dragonsreach, but it catches him off guard regardless. Perhaps because he hasn’t fully considered it. Thankfully Ralyanis fills the awkward silence to spare him. “I would love the chance to roam outside the city. I’ve seen enough mountains in my life. Whiterun’s moors sound like nothing I could ever imagine.”

Taziri clasps her hands together in delight. “It truly is breathtaking. My father took me riding as a child. I can heartily attest to the wonder of feeling the wind in your hair and seeing a wide open horizon lead on and on until you start to think it’ll never end! When we arrive I’ll have a talk with the stable master. I’m sure renting a few horses for a day won’t be much trou-”

Tomoichi’s translation is cut short by the _thunk_ of an arrow embedding itself in the floorboard of the cart, which is followed by a cacophony of terrified screams and hoarse shouting from overhead. A thin row of archers stand on the ridge, bows trained on the wagons. From the underbrush a handful of bandits emerge, the broadest among them yelling orders at Delphine and the other drivers while the rest set about subduing the few guards accompanying the caravan. Virizion catches Ralyanis’ eye, noting the subtle glint of her dagger in hand. Under ordinary circumstances they could take most of them down and make a break for the tree line, but they’re with civilians. Acting rashly means if they run, they do so with innocent blood on their hands.

He shakes his head just so, relieved to see she heeds his warning, and carefully files off the cart with the others. A few bandits step up and start frisking their hostages while the others set to looting the carts. Rough, clumsy hands force their way between the folds of his robe. Virizion doesn’t bother masking his disdain at the manhandling; he lets the man see the disgust on his face clear as day. With a harsh jerk his amulet of Syrabane snaps from around his neck. A snarl at his side tells him Ralyanis is suffering the same heartless treatment. Down the line a tussle breaks out between one man and Taziri. One of the merchants cries out in shock. He fears the woman will be outmatched, but she lets out a guttural scream and places an open palm against the man’s face. In an instant her hand erupts in flames, broiling his skin, and the tide shifts without warning.

Ralyanis wastes no time in drawing her dagger and plunges it into the neck of the nearest bandit, and Tomoichi dives to swipe the man’s sword. He swings high to parry a blow from a woman above him. Taziri, now released from her captor’s hold, pulls the other merchants behind her and sends a volley of fireballs into the crowd of archers overhead. A fearsome roar that rattles his chest tears through the chaotic noise of crackling flames and steel meeting steel. Virizion wavers a moment on his feet, watching with a mix of terror and awe as Ja’irzu lifts a woman over his head and throws her clear into the nearby river. A sudden sting on his ear wrests him from his stupor and Virizion weaves together arcane threads to summon the icy form of a frost atronach to defend him.

He staggers sideways as his conjured ally enters the fray, wailing away at the remaining bandits. By then the scales begin to tip in their favor. Delphine fights back-to-back with Tomoichi, each sporting a pilfered blade and holding their own with graceful ferocity. The few surviving archers turn tail, fleeing in terror at the growing blaze formed by Taziri’s magic. He lends her his aid in dousing the flame, and by the time the forest is no longer at risk of burning down around them the others have either dispatched or detained the last of their attackers.

Delphine makes short work of binding the bandits with spare rope. Ja’irzu helps their guards load the battered prisoners onto the lumber carriage in spite of a heavy limp in his leg. Virizion considers offering the heal the Khajiit’s injury when he feels hands take hold of his arm. Ralyani turns him towards her, an uncharacteristic look of worry darkening her expression.

 _“Are you alright? I should have kept a better eye on you.”_ She reaches past his face, too focused on assessing his health to let him get a word in edgewise. _“Your ear…”_

The touch stings, moreso even than when he was given the cut. Virizion bats her hand away with a soft hiss and sets to work magically sealing the wound. _“I will live, Raly. It may ache but I’ll be fine. All they got was one scratch.”_

Seemingly mollified, Ralyanis leads the way back to the caravan. Virizion follows with a bowed head, which allows him to notice the gleam of silver in a bloody, outstretched hand. His heart leaps into his throat and he kneels in an instant to retrieve his amulet from his assailant's corpse. Though it’s stained from its time in the hands of the filthy cutpurse, the amethysts inlaid in silver shine as though from within as they always have.

For a moment he considers driving his foot in the dead man’s face. He would never be parted from the symbol of his dedication to the temple. Never in life, never in death, and certainly never at the hands of a common criminal. But before he can follow through on the thought Ralyanis calls out to him, making his decision for him.

* * *

The remainder of the trip is much less thrilling.The sun sets when the caravan reaches the outer walls of the capital city, bathing Whiterun’s open hills a breathtaking shade of auburn. It’s a sight that nearly brings him to tears; so much open space, all of it a beauty to behold. He can already picture his people building homes here, making new lives for themselves outside of isolation.

The caravan slows to a halt outside of the city's stable. Virizion steps down from the wagon, lingering nearby to help the other passengers disembark. From the city walls a woman calls out to the band of merchants. A chorus of shouts rise up in reply, and he watches, curious, when Taziri breaks away from the crowd to dash up the path towards the gates. Virizion turns away then and finds Tomoichi approaching with their belongings thrown over a shoulder.

“Delphine already made arrangements for our stay. She’ll be meeting with the Jarl’s steward to set up a meeting in the morning. Until then we should claim our room at the Bannered Mare and get some rest. Unless there’s anything you’d like to do in the city.”

Virizion lifts his gaze to the city beyond, at the peak of a massive fortress overlooking the hold. Dragonsreach, the home of Jarl Balgruuf the Greater. What he wouldn’t give to put off meeting with him. But while their audience with the Jarl is inevitable, he _can_ do his damnedest to distract himself from it. “If you wouldn’t mind giving us a tour? I’m eager to see all Whiterun has to offer.”

Never one to leave a job half-finished, Tomoichi leads them through the many homey districts of the city. He shares what stories he can about the locals. The feud dividing two of the city’s most influential families, tales of his own family’s stay in the city when he was born, and of his encounter with the Companions before he’d come to his senses and abandoned the thought of joining their ranks. He left the latter subject at that, sensing their unease with the mention of an organization which at one point in history held the sole purpose of hunting down the native elves of Skyrim.

Their wanderings lead them through the robust marketplace and down quiet alleyways. Eventually they take a moment of respite within the Temple of Kynareth. Though they do not know the gods worshiped there, the Divines, the priests take no offense when Virizion kneels at the edge of the shallow fountain to recite his own prayers. It’s been weeks since he took the time to whisper more than a brief request for guidance from the gods, but here in the safety and sanctity of this temple a sermon falls from his lips like water drawn from a deep well. Words of millenia old wisdom about the virtuous acts of Auri-El and Trinimac that he doesn’t realize he’s needed to hear until they form upon his lips. A hand, cold and calloused but never unwelcome, takes his and he feels a shudder flood his senses when Ralyanis’ voice joins his in worship. When all is said that can be she helps him to his feet. Tomoichi, silent where he stands at the side of the room, is mindful not to mention the tears Virizion wipes from weary eyes when they make their way back into the night.

The trio makes the joint decision to reconvene at the inn to share a late dinner. They aren’t the only ones with the idea, as Ja’irzu makes himself comfortable at Virizion’s side with a heavy plate of his own. They must look a strange sight, a broad-shouldered Khajiit sitting beside a skinny runt of an elven man - and they _do_ receive a handful of pointed looks, though he imagines for much different reasons - but Virizion doesn’t mind. He quite enjoys the other man’s veritable font of odd tales from his days as a wanderer. When they finish their meals Ja’irzu regales the small crowd with one at his request. By now the khajiit is used to pausing so that his words can be translated, although this is counterbalanced by Tomoichi’s struggle not to laugh too much while doing the translating. 

“So by the time they reached Ivarstead the hagraven was _still_ following them. Sh-She snuck into their camp to try and steal Droma away!” He pauses to hear the rest of the tale, granting Virizion a moment to picture the scene of a haggard half-bird half-woman attempting to kidnap an elderly khajiit to marry. He can’t remember the last time he laughed so hard.

The stories continue for another hour or so, but the merry mood has its way so that it feels like no time has passed at all. The room draws steadily quiet, with mot leaving for their homes or rooms, until the only sounds are the crackle of the hearth and the snores of a drunkard passed out under the stairs. Until Virizion sits alone by the fire nursing a mug that ran empty long ago. The inn’s proprietor lingers behind the bar on principle, but when it becomes clear she won’t be needed she changes shifts with one of her employees.

He doesn’t recall drifting off, but a hand shakes him from a heavy bout of drowsiness before he knows it. _“Go to bed, Viri. You need your rest as much as I do."_

 _“Hm. Was resting.”_ But he stumbles to his feet at Ralyanis’ insistence. It’s a near thing, but together they manage the stairs and Virizion begins shucking off layers of clothing. Their room has only the one bed, plush and large enough for two, but after everything they’ve been through in the past month, as well as the years since they met, the intimate proximity is no longer uncomfortable.

When at last Virizion falls into bed the frame shifts under them. Ralyanis’ temple brushes against his and his last memory is her gentle assurances. _“I trust you. I trust your judgement. No matter what happens tomorrow the gods will watch over us, and we will persevere.”_


	4. The Audience

“You stand in audience with Jarl Balruuf the Greater, noble ruler of Whiterun Hold. I am Proventus Avenicci, faithful steward to the Jarl. We understand that you are here in the company and by sponsorship of Delphine of Riverwood, of whom the Jarl regards highly, and that you are travelers from a distant land seeking aid and information. Please be so kind as to state your names and the specifics of your business in Dragonsreach.”

Virizion breaks eye contact with the steward only when their translator finishes speaking. Proventus’ address sounds long winded even without translation, and he takes care to reply only after Tomoichi accepts a drink to soothe his voice. “My name is Virizion Adamar, first son to Faelor and Ventani and Apprentice Historian at the Temple of Syrabane.”

“And my name is Ralyanis Elric,” His companion adds, stepping forward to stand beside him. “Only daughter to Aedwen and Sidare and member of the Temple Guard.”

They each take a low bow. Virizion is the first to rise, meeting the Jarl’s gaze as he straightens his back. “We are Snow Elves, and we fear we are among the last of our kind.” He pauses, allowing himself a moment to watch the shock register on each face in the room. He glances at Tomoichi, whose face goes slack with surprise even as he shares their revelation with those gathered. Will their new friend think of them differently now that the truth is known?

“We hail from a haven built thousands of years ago when the Atmorans hunted our race to near extinction. Since then our people have had no contact with the world beyond the temple. Ralyanis and I have traveled for many days chiefly for information regarding the survival of our race, but we also seek to understand this new world we find ourselves in. And, gods granting, land for our families to call home.”

Silence lingers in the wake of his declaration. A low murmur from the lone Dunmeri woman breaks it gently, and at last the Jarl speaks directly to him. Balgruuf’s voice takes him back, baritone and regal in a manner that transcends language. “I am honored to welcome you into my city. You have arrived during tumultuous times, but I and the servants of Dragonsreach will do what we can to aid you.”

Proventus pipes up in response to the Jarl’s words. The two share a tense rapport before Balgruuf silences the man. At the side of the hall Virizion notes a shift in Delphine’s posture, though she says nothing.

“Much has transpired in the millenia since the Snow Elves openly walked the wilds of Skyrim. It is with a heavy heart that I must tell you that your kind have not been seen in all of Tamriel since before the First Era. In truth, it was thought that what remains of the Falmer exist only as the feral creatures that prowl the halls of the Dwemer. It is clear now we were wrong. My court wizard, Farengar, will be available for you to speak with in regards to Tamriel’s history in your absence, provided he is not indisposed with official business. And I will consult him on finding you a language tutor. Noble as it is for your friend to offer his services, it would do well for you to be able to speak with our kind on equal ground.”

A quick glance shows a warm flush on Tomoichi’s cheeks. Virizion returns his attention to the Jarl with a smile. “I could not agree more. I cannot fully express my gratitude for what you have promised us this day. But I must ask something more of you, and ask it plainly: Do you know of a place where my people will be welcomed? Our numbers remain steady but it has become too dangerous for us to remain solely at the temple. This is the true reason Ralyanis and I left our home. Our people have spent too long merely surviving. We want nothing more than for the Snow Elves to thrive once more.”

The sympathetic look that darkens Balgruuf’s expression tells him his answer before Tomoichi can translate his words. “That is difficult to say. The citizens of Whiterun and the towns bearing her banner are more accepting than most of Skyrim’s people. To some the mere fact that you are eles is enough cause for hatred. But there is something to be said for setting aside ancient grudges for the betterment of society.” He rises from his throne to stand before Virizion, setting a hand on his shoulder. “If it is in my power I will do all I can to see that the Snow Eles walk among us in Skyrim once more. You have my word.”

The weight of the Jarl’s promise makes Virizion’s chest tight, and the best he can do is utter his soft thanks. Balgruuf motions with a hand for them to follow him into a side hall of the palace. Virizion reaches out towards Ralyanis who slips her hand into his and offers a firm squeeze.

_“You’re doing wonderfully Viri. Faelor would be proud to see you here representing us.”_

His heart swells at his mother’s mention. _“She would. Aedwen would be proud of you, too.”_

Her grip on his hand tightens before she pulls away. _“No. You know she’d side with father.”_

The room they enter is spacious. Less so than the great hall but enough to service its owner and his many tomes, crystals, and herbs that litter every available surface. Its occupants, a robed human man and an Altmeri woman in golden armor, are deep in a one-sided conversation. The woman notices their entrance first, more interested in the interruption than the man beside her. Her gaze falls on the trio behind the Jarl, scrutinizing them in a way he’s become accustomed to. It then drifts beside them, tracking the movement of Delphine as she makes her way at the tail of their group.

Balgruuf addresses the man, seeming to pay the woman no mind. But although she steps aside to make way for the Jarl’s entrance she remains nearby, arms folded while the two men converse. Tomoichi hesitates to speak, at first trying to translate their conversation verbatim and then deciding better of it. “They’re discussing what to do about teaching you Tamrielic. The man in the robe is Farengar Secret-Fire, the court wizard the Jarl mentioned. I hear he’s a tad eccentric, but I also hear no one in Whiterun is as knowledgeable as him.”

“I can think of a few.” The elven woman interjects, her focus on the trio. The fact that she speaks directly to them in Altmeris catches him by surprise after so long relying on Tomoichi’s translations, which morphs into embarrassment for not thinking an Altmer would recognize her own tongue. “Do I hear correct? You two are Falmer?”

“We are.” Ralyanis frowns. “But our people prefer to be referred to as Snow Elves. We have for millenia.”

The woman has the grace to act admonished, nodding. “My apologies. It seems the scholars left that detail out of the annals. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Aesatel, from Skyrim’s capital city of Solitude.”

“Wait, I know that name.” Tomoichi knits his brows together until the memory becomes clear, and his eyes widen in recognition. Aesatel watches him with an amused smile. “You’re the woman who survived the attack on Helgen. You stayed with Hadvar’s family after the dragon attack, right?”

Virizion recalls the tale from a night at the Sleeping Giant. His people told tales of the mighty beasts that ruled with fire and fangs when his ancestors still walked freely in their homeland, but the dragons of old never found their refuge at their temple. Knowing that their tyranny endured - or rather that it had been reborn at the site of Helgen’s ruins - still chills him to his very core.

Before any more can be said the Jarl calls for their attention. Behind them Farengar watches the two Snow Elves with unnerving fascination. “It has been decided that, if you are willing, you should be sent to one of the western holds for your education. It pains me to make you travel so far, especially with the damned Thalmor sinking their claws into Imperial territory, but Whiterun sits on the front line of the war. You will be safer far from the fighting.”

Aesatel interjects before Virizion can respond, but the Jarl seems pleased by what she says. “It sounds like they decided on Markarth.” Tomoichi glances between Virizion and the others. “It makes sense; Markarth is built into the Druadach Mountains. I’ve heard the keep is actually part of a Dwemer ruin.”

Virizion tries not to show his displeasure, but it’s a futile effort. “I see. How far is Markarth from Whiterun?”

Tomoichi turns to pass along his question. It’s Farengar who answers, setting out a broad map on the main desk. Tomoichi beckons them over and points between markers on the map. “The best estimate is a week’s travel. The road is winding, and Markarth is the westernmost capital in Skyrim. And that’s all disregarding how dangerous it is to travel these days.”

“So you’ll need protection, but even this is requires a balancing act.” Aesatel surveys the map, tracing it with the pad of her finger. “Bringing too many guards means you’ll be slow, and you may as well be wearing a target. Bring too few and you’ll be vulnerable to brigands and beasts. Or, gods forbid, a dragon.”

Ralyanis crosses her arms over her chest. “We can handle ruffians and trolls. But I’m not eager to fight a dragon.”

The Altmer woman laughs, an act that brightens her expression. “As you rightly shouldn’t be. But I wouldn’t worry because I’m going to join you.” She seems to say as much to Balgruuf and Farengar, who also don’t seem to mind.

“Have you fought a dragon before?” Virizion catches her as she turns to leave the room.

Aesatel nods. And for a moment he sees something solemn in her gaze, haunted even. “Many. And every dragon I’ve fought I’ve killed, save one. You’ll be as safe in my care as you would with the Imperial army at your back.” With that she steps past him. Virizion watches her start for the door only to be stopped by Delphine, who has remained silent throughout their stay in Dragonsreach. Ralyanis and Tomoichi don’t appear to notice, too engrossed in unloading a myriad of questions on Farengar and pouring over the map of the province, so he has no way of knowing what passes between the women. Whatever’s said is enough to put a venomous expression on Aesatel’s face before she departs, so it may be for the best that he remains unaware.

In the days following their audience with the Jarl plans are made and preparations set in motion. They’ll depart in two weeks’ time on horseback to allow for a courier to be sent to Calcelmo, the court wizard under Jarl Igmund. Farengar assures them that the Altmer mage will jump at the chance to tutor a pair of Snow Elves. Aesatel, the more realistic of their advisors, notes that if Calcelmo won’t, likely because the man becomes obsessive of his work surrounding the Dwemer, his nephew and apprentice Aicantar might help in his stead. Two Whiterun guards, Bren Magnessen and Ormir Forgehammer, will accompany them on their journey, and Delphine agrees to join them as far as the crossroads leading to Rorikstead. She and Aesatel each have business in Solitude but when Virizion inquires on the nature of their business he’s met with either tense silence or dismissal and leaves it at that. And of course Tomoichi promises to stay with them for as long as he can. He laments that he won’t be able to stay for the duration of their stay in Markarth, perhaps for a few weeks, but when Delphine finishes with her affairs in Solitude he’ll want to join her on the trip back to Riverwood. Virizion tells him he’s simply grateful for his willingness to remain with them for as long as he has. Tomoichi still vows to return when he can, and to write to them often.

Until it’s time to depart they fill their day with merriment and brief lessons with Farengar. Trying to shrink thousands of years of history into two weeks is too daunting of a task, even if Virizion would be more than willing to exercise patience for the sake of knowledge. So they cover a few broad strokes of important events - the important rulers of the Empire, the Oblivion Crisis, and the Great War to name a few - for the sake of time constraints.

When they aren’t in Dragonsreach they spend their days in the streets of Whiterun with its citizens, who never fail to find something interesting to involve them in. In one day they accept an offer to hunt with a Bosmer man by the name of Anoriath in the early morning, and later that night they join in on a birthday celebration for Lars Battle-Born. Games are played  by the children and those young or willing enough to humor them and drinks are had by all in attendance. It’s a splendid time all around, even when the boy’s father becomes fixated on convincing Virizion to side with the Imperials in the civil war. Tomoichi takes pity on him and feigns translating the man’s impassioned speech by mocking him, though this makes it hard for him not to ruin the ruse by laughing. Taziri follows through on her promise to take them riding, which gives them the opportunity to bond with the steeds they’ll be riding on to Markarth. In a surprising turn Virizion takes to it quickly. The horses lent to them by the Jarl are experienced, old enough to be near retirement, and their calm demeanor helps the learning process. The carefree amazement of racing over the hills that was promised to them lingers in Virizion’s system through the rest of the day.

* * *

A week passes in a flash and Calcelmo’s fateful letter arrives at Dragonsreach in the early morning. Not only is he eager to meet them but Jarl Igmund has agreed to house them in Understone Keep as a sign of good will. By all rights Virizion should be overjoyed, but it’s difficult to bid farewell to Whiterun. Its people have endeared themselves to him. But the opportunity not only to learn the language of Tamriel and stay out of the war but to see more of the world they’d been denied is one they can’t pass up. That doesn’t keep Virizion’s heart from sinking when a crowd gathers at the city gates to see them off. When will he next see these kind souls?

The pace they set on the road allows them to move swifter than when they traveled to Whiterun by caravan. By nightfall they make it as far as an old fort fallen into disrepair. Ormir, the more talkative of their chaperones, mourns its loss, citing Fort Greymoor’s importance to Whiterun’s history. He also warns their band to camp far from its walls, recalling reports of bandits spotted on the fort’s ramparts. Without a campfire - another precaution to avoid drawing attention to themselves - only the light of Masser and Secunda illuminate the land around them. In the distance only the peaks of Dragonsreach’s tallest spires are visible.

Come morning a light breakfast is had consisting primarily of dried foods. The only conversation is to note when they should depart for the road, and for most of the day that silence persists. Ralyanis strikes up a brief chat with Aesatel, but they trot several feet ahead of Virizion and he can’t make out their words over the thud of hooves against stone. Ahead of them the mountains that mark the beginning of the Reach grow steadily clearer, and they urge their horses into a gallop in order to make it to the pass by sun down. Before they can make it that far they’re forced to stop for a small herd of mammoths being shepherded by a lumbering giant. Despite the group’s anxiousness to continue on, and in the case of Delphine and Bren irritation at the interruption, Virizion is content to watch the herd go. The only giants he’s seen were those from a small tribe in the eastern valley near the Temple of Syrabane, but that tribe’s herd died off centuries ago before Virizion was born.

There’s a palpable feeling of relief from the seasoned members of their group when they reach the crossroads, lit by a golden sunset that promises another hour of travel. Before they embark down the mountain road Delphine announces her departure. Tomoichi leads his horse beside hers to say his goodbyes. She reaches a hand out to rest on his shoulder, a tender affection in her eyes that Virizion can’t recall seeing from her before.

The sweet moment is ruined by a sound like the shriek of wind. It seems to come from far off, ominous and echoing around the valley, but it has the group immediately on edge.

“What was that?” He calls out. Beneath him his horse grows agitated and Virizion reaches down to soothe it.

Bren and Ormir draw bows from their backs at once but stop short when Aesatel barks out an order. She and Delphine exchange a few words and Aesatel draws her steed up beside Virizion’s and Ralyanis’. Her voice is stern when she speaks to them. “Ride into the underbrush as fast as your horses will carry you. Dismount only when you can’t see the sky, do you understand? I will find you when the threat has passed, now go!”

They both nod and spur their mounts southward for the nearest thicket. Virizion’s hands shake where they hold the reins in a vice grip. He may not understand the danger they flee from but he’d be a fool not to heed Aesatel’s worries. Ahead of him Ralyanis spots an overhang in the turf with a thick grove serving as a canopy. Virizion leads their horses under the shelter, making use of a weak calming spell to make them cooperate, and Ralyanis crouches at the entrance on guard.

His heart races as though they’re still on the run. But even the steady thump of his pulse in his ears can’t drown out the sound of a deep, drawn out groan like thunder from the sky. Virizion doesn’t even notice the crunch of footsteps nearby. Thankfully Ralyanis retains her focus and has an arrow aimed at the source of the noise in an instant. When the brush shudders with movement Tomoichi is the one to emerge from the trees, and he spooks at the weapon pointed at his chest.

“Are you both alright?” He hurries over to the safety of their hiding place and allows Virizion to herd his horse with the others.

“A bit shaken, but yes.”

Ralyanis scans the forest around them a final time before ducking down beside them. “That sound… Was that a dragon?”

“Unfortunately.” Tomoichi keeps a hand on the pommel of his sword. Virizion doubts it would be much help against a winged, fire-breathing behemoth, but it must serve as some comfort. “Not as big as the first one I saw, at least. Still looked pretty damn terrifying.”

She grimaces. “Where are the others? They aren’t trying to kill that thing on their own, are they?”

He shakes his head. “No, I doubt they’d try it. They split off to lead it away from us.”

“So what do we do?”

“We stay put and we wait.” The words tumble from Virizion in a sigh. Tomoichi nods his agreement, but Virizion knows Ralyanis won’t be satisfied. Knows it without needing to so much as look at her; the sound of her pacing is enough of a tell. And he knows she understands why waiting is the logical decision in this tense situation. That tends to exacerbate her frustration.

With some coaxing Tomoichi manages to convince Ralyanis to quit pacing, leading her with a hand at her back to sit with them. It does nothing to soothe her anger, but he continues to whisper with her to distract from the waiting. At a point Virizion notes that the sound of echoing roars has ceased. But by the time the sky begins to darken there’s still no sign of their traveling companions. After a brief discussion the three of them decide to make a camp for the night. Virizion ties down their horses to a nearby tree surrounded by thick brush, Ralyanis clears out the hollow to make room for two bed rolls to be laid out, and Tomoichi takes first watch, leaving a mark carved into a tree trunk near the road in the hopes it will catch the right eye should their companions come searching for them. They’ll rest up and make their way back to the crossroads at dawn. If the others are still missing then they’ll have to carry on without them.

The gods are merciful enough to keep them from being disturbed in the night, so they awaken well-rested. They mount up and set out for the last place they saw the others. Predictably they’re not at the crossroads when the trio arrives. A mess of hoof prints sits in the road that leads north, and Tomoichi confirms that he last saw them on the path that runs towards Rorikstead.

“Should we follow them?” Ralyanis looks between Virizion and Tomoichi.

“We can’t be sure they went into town. They wouldn’t want to endanger the townsfolk.” Tomoichi’s face pinches at the thought. Virizion recalls that his mother lives in Rorikstead and his stomach sinks at the thought of her at the uncaring mercy of a dragon.

Ralyanis shifts in her saddle. “Then we carry on.”

Virizion frowns. “Aesatel was very clear that she would come find us. She won’t be able to if we leave the area.”

“We can’t stay here forever. It’s too open, and we’re expected in Markarth.”

“We wait.” Tomoichi breaks in. His tone leaves no room for argument. “We’ll wait until midday, and if the others still don’t show… Then we’ll have to keep going. We’ll already be a day behind schedule. No point in wasting another.”

On that they can all agree. So they settle in to a clearing off the road to bide their time, keeping their eyes peeled on the wide horizon. All they spy while they wait are deer grazing in the fields, a wide flock of birds high above them, and a small patrol of Whiterun soldiers passing through to Rorikstead. When asked the soldiers regretfully admit that they haven’t seen their fellow guardsman on the road, but they promise to tell the missing members that the trio will continue on the road to Markarth if they cross paths with them. It’s not a foolproof plan but it has to be enough.

Midday arrives and they resign themselves to their decision. Before embarking on their venture Virizion had taken the liberty to memorize the maps of the Reach provided by Farengar, and Tomoichi stuck to the more practical method of packing a spare map to consult on the road. No matter what awaits them Virizion takes small comfort in trusting that they won’t lose their way on the road to Markarth.


	5. Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a lot longer to finish than I'd hoped. I blame it on finals week, but really there's multiple reasons for the delay. I also want to mention that the next chapter will be even more delayed because I have a one-shot planned for another fandom that has been demanding be written since I reached the halfway point on this chapter. After that's finished and published I'll return to regular Hearthfire updates.

There are subtle differences between the mountain roads of the Reach and those they traversed around the base of the Throat of the World. For one, this road boasts a distinct lack of trees, and the few they pass grow close to the ground. Junipers, as Tomoichi calls them, that bear small fruit safe enough to eat if they wish. They’re a beautiful part of the Reach’s unique ecosystem but Ralyanis longs for pines. Tall with broad boughs to provide shelter. Without them the land feels painfully exposed, and she lingers at the back of the group with her head on a swivel.

Another difference is that the weather cycles often throughout the day. Dark, heavy clouds drift in from the west after the trio decide to continue without their guides. Blotting out the setting sun, they force the group to camp earlier than intended, and a storm batters the mountain side all through the night. They wake to a drizzle that morphs into dense fog by the time the sun is high in the sky, making it even more difficult to see the path snaking through the hills. So that by the time they stop to let their horses rest Ralyanis is ready to scream at the sky for continuously inhibiting their journey.

Tomoichi leans against a boulder eating a light lunch and reading the map in his hand. She steps up and offers to hold a corner up to make reading it easier. “There’s supposed to be an inn ahead of us, Old Hroldan. It has a long history, housed some soldiers during an important war I believe. I wish I’d taken the chance to travel this way when I was still living in Rorikstead. At least then I’d be sure of how close we are to it.”

“We know you’re doing your best.” Ralyanis offers him a sympathetic look. “And the weather isn’t helping us stay on schedule.”

He laughs under his breath. “No, it isn’t. Maybe it’s an omen.”

“Don’t let Virizion hear you say that, he’ll think the gods are against us.” She whispers with a conspiratorial smile. They both share a chuckle and she reaches between them to point to a marker on the map. “This is Markarth, yes? Where is this inn you saw?”

Tomoichi, finding both his hands occupied, tosses his apple core to the horses. “It’s, ah-” Their hands brush when he makes to point out a smaller marker east of their destination. “It should be here. With any luck we should be able to reach it by tonight, but…”

“We’ve not had much of it since leaving Whiterun.”

He shakes his head. When he turns to peer into the fog Ralyanis sneaks a glance at him. His cheeks are flushed; easy enough to blame on the cold. Rather than mention it she takes the map to begin folding it. “We should get back on the road then. Maybe the fog will hide us from the wolves that are doubtless waiting to pounce on whatever poor soul decides to wander around in this weather.”

“We should be so lucky.” His lips quirk into a half-smile. “At the very least it’ll hide us from bandits, as long as we’re quiet. I think that’s all I can ask for at this point.”

Just then Virizion calls for their attention, eyes narrowed at the road behind them. “Hear that?”

Ralyanis pivots on her heel. The sound is distant, making her strain to pick up on it, but distinct: the echo of swift hoofbeats on stone. Instinct draws her hand to the dagger at her waist but Tomoichi lays a hand against her wrist. “Hold on. It could be a hold guard.”

Virizion joins them at their side. The wait for a revelation is tense, made worse by the lingering fog which means whoever is riding their way will only be visible once they’re already too close for comfort. The sound of hooves draws closer until they slow to an even pace, and Ralyanis can hear the rider’s steed panting from its exertion. A silhouette forms at the edge of her vision just before a voice rings out.

“You three are more trouble than you’re worth.”

Just like that the apprehension bleeds out of the trio and Ralyanis rushes forward to embrace Aesatel when she dismounts. “You’re alive!”

“Of course I am. And you don’t obey orders.” The altmer admonishes her. Though she wraps her arms around the other woman with a smile. “But I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same. And you’re all still intact. I guess that counts for something in your favor.”

Tomoichi and Virizion join them, the latter reaching out to rest a hand on Aesatel’s shoulder while the former scuffs his boot against the dirt. Tomoichi is the one to reply. “What happened when we separated? Where are the others?”

Aesatel shakes her head and lets go of Ralyanis. “We can catch up later. It’s not much farther to a tavern nearby, Old Hroldan.”

“Right, that was where we planned to stay the night.”

She pauses to appraise him. “I was under the impression you haven’t done much traveling outside of Whiterun.” He shrugs, sheepish under her scrutiny. “Regardless, from here it should only take a few hours to arrive, barring any unwanted attention. You three made good time. I should wonder if you needed me after all.”

Virizion pipes up, having gathered their horses. “Maybe not, but we won’t spurn the help while we have it.”

They mount once more and allow Aesatel to take the lead. The poor weather doesn’t let up while they ride but Aesatel and her horse never slow, familiar enough with the rocky path that Ralyanis wonders if she could navigate it by memory alone. Whatever the case may be, by sundown she brings their troop up a side path that leads to a lonesome looking wooden inn. It’s well-tended despite its isolation. Frankly Ralyanis would be happy even if it were a skeever den so long as she could sleep under a solid roof.

Aesatel takes care of purchasing rooms, leaving Tomoichi to order a hot meal from the tavern owner’s son. They eat in silence, gulping down hot broth and freshly-baked bread, their first filling meal in days. Their proprietors don’t mind a bit, going about cleaning and filling their glasses as normal. Eventually curiosity gets the better of Tomoichi and he asks that Aesatel explain what they missed since their separation.

“Let it be known that dragons are relentless hunters.” She wipes her mouth with a cloth and leans her weight forward on her knees. “It chased us as far north as Gjukar’s Monument - you probably know it, being from Rorikstead nearby. I knew we’d never make it to shelter before dark, and even if we did there was every chance the dragon would try to carve its way to us or wait until we tried to escape in the morning. So we stood our ground and faced it head on. We got lucky. It was smaller than most I’ve encountered since the attack at Helgen. We struck it down, but not without a cost.” Here Tomoichi sits forward in his seat but Aesatel raises a placating hand. “Delphine is alive and well. I know you care for her. She only suffered mild burns. Stubborn as she is I’d bet she’s already halfway to Dragon Bridge by now. But Ormir had his leg bit clean off. We tried our best to dress the wound and keep him stable. Bren wanted to take him to Rorikstead so he could recover but shock took him in the end. I left Bren to take his comrade home to be buried.”

Ralyanis gapes at the news. Ormir had laid down his life to defend his companions from a beast ten times his size. Loss of life in the line of duty was nothing new to her, but it would always ache to see a soldier fall.

“After that of course I set off to find you. I met soldiers fresh from the Falkreath border that told me you’d crossed their path and were heading on into the Reach. Thought for sure I’d find you in the hands of Forsworn or worse. I’ve never been more glad to be wrong.”

“You should have more faith in us next time.” Tomoichi manages a thin-lipped smile.

Aesatel nods, places a hand on his shoulder before standing. “Keep surprising me and maybe I will. Now if you all will excuse me I’m off to bed. There’s a single and double room to arrange among yourselves. If there’s any trouble wake me right away.”

“Sleep well.” Ralyanis watches her go. The room lapses into silence, the mood thoroughly sullied. Virizion excuses himself to the double bedroom intending to pray for their fallen companion, leaving Ralyanis and Tomoichi to sit and ruminate on what they’ve learned. She watches his expression shift, unguarded, between a medley of emotions, most of them somber. Breathing deep, she breaks the quiet with a gentle tone. “I bet you’re relieved to hear Delphine is safe.”

He startles despite her low voice, then looks embarrassed at having been caught off guard. “Yes. Very. She’s… I mean, I know she can handle herself. Still. It’s a relief.”

“Forgive me for asking if I overstep.” She picks her words carefully, hesitant to ask even while she’s speaking. “You two are very close. Is she your family?”

“Oh, no. Well. In a way.” Tomoichi straightens his back, smiling to himself like he’s reliving a memory. “She knew my grandfather when he was still alive. They worked together for a long time, so when he died she kept an eye on my father. He wasn’t very fond of her. Always said she brought up bad memories. But he didn’t mind my moving to Riverwood for work when she promised to take me in. You could say she’s like family.”

A fond smile lights up her face. Family through a long-standing bond is a sentiment she understands well. “Not too different from Virizion and I.”

At that he turns fully to her. “So you two aren’t related? You could’ve fooled me.”

“Why, because we’re both Snow Elves?” She teases.

“What? N-No, of course not!” His face goes pale and she laughs. “I just meant… It’s just that you two seem so close, too. You’ve obviously known each other for some time. I suppose I thought you must be related.”

Ralyanis lays a hand on his knee. “I know. It’s better than assuming we must be partners. Viri and I are siblings in all but name, really.”

“So you _aren’t_ together?”

She gives him a disbelieving look, but it fades when she sees the grin threatening to break across his face. “You’re awful. No, we aren’t. I’ve known him since he was a baby, and he isn’t interested in women anyway.”

Tomoichi blinks. “No? Huh.” Ralyanis tilts her head just a hair, watching his face. Her expression must worry him because he holds up his hands a moment later. “I don’t mean it like that. It’s not… That’s just a very personal thing, I never think about it in regards to what other people…”

She shrugs and stands to gather their bowls. “I think I understand what you’re trying to say. It’s my fault for mentioning it. Virizion has always been comfortable with his heart. I didn’t consider how others in Skyrim handle speaking about such a subject.”

“For what it’s worth not everyone in Skyrim is such a bumbling idiot about love like I am.” Tomoichi pushes himself to his feet, following a few steps behind while she returns their dishes to the innkeep.

“You aren’t an idiot.” Ralyanis tuts, giving a smile over her shoulder. “A well-meaning _fool_ maybe. But not an idiot.”

He scoffs, smiling up at the ceiling. “Only a fool then. Looks like there’s a chance for me yet.”

She makes for the door to the room she’ll share with Virizion but pauses. An impulsive thought draws her back over to Tomoichi’s side. “We tease each other, but I want you to know I think anyone would be lucky to have you.”

He looks stunned at her admission, eyes wide. He stumbles over a response for a moment and settles on a soft “thank you” before turning away; though not quickly enough that she doesn’t notice the red tint in his cheeks.

Virizion looks up from the far corner when she joins him in the bedroom. He’s already dressed down for the night, knelt down on a pillow. _“Ready to sleep? I wondered how long you’d be out there with Tomoichi."_

 _“What do you mean by_ that?” Ralyanis moves to the far side of the room to begin shrugging off her traveling clothes. The two of them settle beside each other on the bed with their backs to the wall.

_“Don’t play at naivete, it’s unbecoming of you.”_

She huffs. _“Shut up…”_

Virizion nudges her arm, eyes bright. _“Well it’s hard not to notice how much time you two spend together. I’m happy you have a friend here other than me. I know you often tire of my company.”_

 _“Like right now,”_ She retorts. _“Viri, I was wondering if you’ve noticed the way he behaves around me?"_

 _"You’ll have to be more specific, Raly.”_ He pulls a knee up to rest his arm on. _“Do you mean the way he does everything he can think of to make you smile, or perhaps how his brain stops working when he hears your laugh? Or maybe-”_

_“Viri!”_

Virizion chuckles. _“I’d have to be blind not to see it. Don’t tell me you didn’t.”_

The steely glare she sends him stops his laughter, though it does nothing to displace the smile he maintains. _“Virizion Adamar I have seen the way your mother flirts with mine when they think they’re alone in the temple. I’m not clueless.”_

 _“That seems debatable.”_ When she rears back to swat him he chokes out a laugh. _“But yes, as you can see I’ve noticed. Are his feelings not reciprocated?”_

 _“Well, no they are."_ A pause. _“I think he wants to tell me. And I’d say the same to him.”_

_“I never doubted that.”_

She gives him another pointed look, to which he feigns admonishment. _“But I can’t help worrying… We come from very different worlds.”_

Virizion shakes his head. _“They say love is a universal concept, and I’m inclined to believe it. There are always uncertainties, but you won’t know if you’ll fit together unless you give it a try. So give it some time. Think about if you’re willing to tell him now or if you’d rather wait and see if he takes the plunge himself.”_

Ralyanis nods along. A yawn breaks up her reply and she settles in to lay down. _“Alright, you make a fair point. I think I’ll wait and see how it develops on its own.”_

 _“Thank you for admitting I’m right. It does wonders for my ego."_ Virizion pulls the covers back to settle in. _“And I hope things work out for you two. He’d be a fool to pass you up.”_

She smiles to herself, eyes falling closed. _“Thank you, Viri."_

* * *

 

The following day dawns with a clear sky and Aesatel urges them back onto the road at first light to take full advantage of the pleasant weather. They file in behind her steed with Virizion at the center of their marching order and Tomoichi and Ralyanis bringing up the rear.

Down the road they come across a crumbling spire with a pile of gold pieces and wilting flowers surrounding a metal blossom that sits at its base. Virizion lingers near it when they pass, fixated on the artificial flower. “What is this?”

Tomoichi leads his horse beside Virizions, just as curious. “A shrine of Dibella. Strange to find one out here.”

“Not really.” Aesatel turns in her saddle. “Markarth is home to Skyrim’s temple to Dibella. Pilgrims likely set this shrine here to mark their journey. But we don’t have time to stick around for a history lesson.”

“Apologies.” Virizion ducks his head and settles back in line.

Ralyanis lets out a thoughtful hum. Virizion may be willing to curb his curiosity but she’s tired of long stretches of quiet on the road. Besides, as long as they keep moving Aesatel ought not to complain. “What is Dibella the god of?”

“Goddess.” Tomoichi corrects.

“She is the Lady of Love, Beauty, and Affection.” Aesatel calls out behind her. Her shoulders are slumped when she does so. “Which the general populace tends to simplify into the goddess of having copious amounts of sex.”

Virizion chokes on a reply and bursts with laughter. Ralyanis purses her lips in a smile. “I like her.”

“Hm, who doesn’t? I’m partial to Lady Mara myself. She is the one by whom most marriages are sworn in the Empire. And my husband is a priest in her service, so I’m obliged to be biased.”

“You’re married? Please accept my belated congratulations.” Virizion offers. “I would love to meet your husband one day.”

“You may yet. Erandur doesn’t shy away from the occasional adventure.” Aesatel slows her horse’s pace. For a moment Ralyanis spies a smile on her face before the other woman turns to survey the road ahead of them. “I dare say he’ll want to meet you all when I tell him of you.”

The mood in their gang lifts like dawn breaking through a shrouded night. They keep their voices low to avoid drawing untoward attention to themselves but they chatter on for the hours it takes to reach their next resting place about whatever comes to mind. How did Aesatel meet her husband? How much of the world has she traveled to? What was the Imperial City like while she still resided in Cyrodiil? The topics eventually come around to the Snow Elves’ experiences, and quite a bit of time is dedicated to detailing how their people adapted to isolation from the rest of Skyrim. The highlight of which is Tomoichi’s wide-eyed shock at learning how old each of them are, with Ralyanis at 294 years old and Virizion at 245, and the assertion that they’re still relatively young compared to their peers, the oldest of which near a millenia in age. Aesatel appears unsurprised at the fact being elven herself, but she does remark that they’re older even than she is, which Ralyanis finds almost as amusing as Tomoichi’s disbelief.

They camp in a low valley beside the Karth River and decide to take advantage of the location, the women leaving to fish while the men set up camp. Without fishing rods they have to get creative and end up tying rope to a few arrows to make miniature, improvised harpoons. An imperfect method, but Virizion and Tomoichi don’t complain about having fresh fish for dinner.

They arrive at Markarth by midday following their night by the river. After such a harsh trip Ralyanis stares in unrestrained awe at the high, sculpted stone walls of the city promising unwavering safety from the unforgiving wilds. The path to the city’s gates winds up a gradual slope, giving them time to drink in the capitol’s splendor; more importantly, it gives Aesatel a chance to speak to the group in a low, warning tone.

“Markarth is an exquisite city, but it holds its share of dangers to those unaware of them. I want you to commit what I tell you in a moment to memory. Understand?” She swings around to get a good look at them, waits until they each nod or voice their agreement, before continuing. “First and foremost is the Silver-Blood family. They own most of Markarth’s businesses, or otherwise poke their noses where they find competition. They own the silver mine in town which doubles as a prison. If anyone in their family should approach you reply courteously and politely refuse to involve yourselves with them. You don’t want to owe them a single septim.

“Secondly, Markarth is an Imperial controlled city. That means the Thalmor have a presence inside her walls and will want to know every intimate detail about your business here and where you came from. It’s in their nature to meddle. I don’t think I’ll have to warn you to watch what you say around them, but all the same. Last I was here a man named Ondolemar presided over the agents stationed in Understone Keep. Not an awful man despite his affiliations. Nevertheless, remember to be courteous but distant. And don’t set foot in the Temple of Talos. If you must worship in a sacred space do so in the Temple of Dibella.

“Last of all, beware the Forsworn. Natives of the Reach.” Aesatel purses her lips and glances back at them. “Their cause is sympathetic. But it’s imperative you remain in the Jarl’s good graces, and he holds no sympathy for them.”

Virizion bows his head. “Thank you for your advice. And for all you’ve done to help us.”

“Yes, well,” She chuckles. “You all remind me of myself in a way. I’d be remiss not to do what I could for you as others have done for me. Now, let’s go meet the Jarl.”

The streets tucked behind Markarth’s walls prove just as breathtaking as the city’s exterior. Extravagantly carved buildings climb up the northern walls in tiers that bring to mind the inner sanctum of the Temple of Syrabane, and a great river valley splits the southern mine from the rest of the city. But the crown jewel is Understone Keep deep in the heart of Markarth. The stonework is undeniably Dwemer in origin, proving the rumors Tomoichi told them of to be correct. But stepping through the grand metal doors makes her stomach churn. Farengar had confirmed what her people had long guessed, that the Dwemer no longer roam the surface of the depths of Tamriel. Still, images of encountering one of those ancient elves who had turned on her kin appear unbidden in her mind.

A guard speaks with Aesatel before leading them deeper into the cavernous keep. Much like their audience in Dragonsreach all eyes are on the group of strangers. But rather than do so with neutral curiosity they are met with a stark split between keen interest, particularly from the few elves among the residents of the keep, and disinterest. Ralyanis tries to catch Aesatel’s eye but if the altmeri woman notices the crowd’s disposition she makes no sign that she's worried.

Introductions are made on their behalf with Aesatel listing off the names of those present in the Jarl’s throne room. Jarl Igmund himself seated on his stone pedestal; Raerek, the Jarl’s steward and the oldest of the humans among them; Faleen, a Redguard woman and the Jarl’s housecarl who stands a step below her liege; and Calcelmo, the Altmer court wizard that barely waits until their introductions are finished to approach the two Snow Elves.

“It is a great honor to finally meet you in person. My nephew and I have worked tirelessly to make the proper accommodations for your stay with us. He would be here now to greet you but he insisted on remaining in our chambers. I think he wished to wait out the flurry of new names and faces you would be greeted by.”

Virizion gives a polite nod. “Quite thoughtful of him.”

“Yes, he has always been a man of tact.” A smile brightens the wizard’s face and he turns to Ralyanis. “If you would like I can give you two a tour of the city. It would do you well to familiarize yourself with it, some of the streets can be tricky to navigate. Though I understand after your long journey if you would prefer to go directly to your new quarters to rest. I can send for a meal to be brought. Anton - that would be the Jarl’s personal chef - made a sublime mudcrab stew for lunch.”

Ralyanis looks to Virizion for his opinion. He hides it well but she can see how tempting the offer of food and a soft bed is. “I believe we’ll settle on resting. Assuming the Jarl has no need of us at present.”

Calcelmo’s posture stiffens, the realization that he hasn’t allowed the Jarl a chance to speak directly with his guests dawning on him. Thankfully Igmund is content to speak with Aesatel when he turns to check on him. “Well, yes. Hm. We should wait until we are formally dismissed. That would be for the best.”

They lapse into silence while the Jarl finishes his conversation. Ralyanis takes the opportunity to step closer to Tomoichi, slipping her hand into his. He breathes in deep at the touch, smiling to himself, and she gives his hand a gentle squeeze. “How does it feel knowing you wont need to translate for us much longer?”

“Oh, it’s awful,” He whispers. “I won’t have an excuse to be around you and Virizion anymore. I’m afraid you’ll kick me out of your lives and I’ll never see you again.”

She stifles a laugh, eyes shining when she looks at him. “That won’t happen. I rather enjoy your company. Besides, there’s still a great deal you could teach us about what life is like now in Skyrim. Lessons about kings and emperors are well and good for nobility and Viri enjoys learning all he can about them, but I’m more interested in the common folk.”

“You won’t get more common than me. I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear it. I quite like being with you, too.”

It’s at this point Aesatel turns her attention back on them, motioning for them to step out into the keep’s main hall with her. “All seems well so far. Igmund likes you two; or is intrigued by you, anyway. You certainly had a warmer welcome than I did when I first met with him.” She pauses at the top of the broad stairwell leading to the entry hall and waits while Calcelmo dismisses himself to the kitchen before continuing. “Unfortunately there’s only room in the keep for his two guests. I’ll go to rent a couple of rooms at the inn for us, Tomoichi. It’s owned by the Silver-Bloods, sits right in front of the main gates.”

Tomoichi nods. “Sounds like it’ll be hard to miss. But I don’t know how eager I am to stay after the glowing review you gave the owners on our way in.”

She chuckles, gives a weary shrug of her shoulders, and starts down the steps. “They may be greedy bastards but they keep a decent establishment. The beds are soft and the rooms are private. That’s all I can ask for.”

They wave goodbye and linger in the hall to wait for Calcelmo’s return. Footsteps approach from behind them, but when Ralyanis turns towards the sound she realizes the owner is not quite the man they are waiting on. She recognizes similarly altmeri features shrouded by his dark hood, but there the similarities end. Two guards flank him, their golden armor bearing avian features gleaming faintly in the low light of the hall. Their focus is trained on the trio, but despite the hostility prickling down the back of Ralyanis’ neck the hooded man greets them with a polite smile. “I understand I am a tad late on the matter but I would like to personally welcome you to Understone Keep. I would have joined the Jarl’s court in doing so but I am afraid some of his confidantes are not fond of me. My name is Ondolemar and I am a Justiciar from the Aldmeri Dominion stationed here in the keep to maintain order.”

Ralyanis shares a look with Virizion, deferring to him as always when societal finesse is necessary. Virizion bows in greeting, straightening to meet the man’s smile with one of his own. "Yes I believe I have heard of you. Your mention was unfortunately brief but it painted you in a good light, I assure you. I am glad to see they were correct about your excellent manners. I am Virizion Adamar and these are my companions, Ralyanis Elric and Tomoichi Sato. Though with your rank I would wager you already knew our names.”

“And you would have walked away with a full coin purse.” Ondolemar’s eyes narrow but he only grows amused. “Mind yourself. Flattery will only take you so far in life. If you will pardon my curiosity I have been wondering since I heard of your impending arrival what would bring two Snow Elves, two of the last known members of your race as far as anyone in Tamriel had heard, out into the open after millenia of hiding.”

Virizion shifts on his feet, his gaze drifting past the Thalmor agent. “That is a lengthy topic that will unfortunately have to wait. We have finished a long trek to arrive in Markarth on schedule and that stew looks like a blessing from the gods. Excuse us.”

Ondolemar turns just as Calcelmo arrives, a pair of kitchen hands trailing behind him in a mirror of the other Altmer’s guards. He frowns but nods respectfully. “Very well, perhaps another time.” He and his guards depart. Calcelmo, oblivious to the conversation he interrupted, leads them through the keep while sharing an anecdote about his first day in the city years ago.

Along the way to their new rooms they pass through a museum with a wide variety of Dwemer artifacts. Ralyanis isn’t fond of the Dwemer as a principle, but even she applauds the wizard’s dedication to his research. The way Farengar had described the dangers of the ancient subterranean cities made it clear there was a scarcity of supply for dwarven metal and treasure, but Calcelmo is in possession of enough bronze mementos to fill his many displays twice over.

“Perhaps I can interest you two in a tour of the museum once you have settled into your rooms. I have yet to open it to the public, but for the Jarl’s guests I am willing to make an exception.”

“That would be kind of you.” Virizion pauses beside an inert animonculi, easily twice his size even without the high pedestal it stands on. He seeks out Ralyanis’ eye but she only shakes her head.

When at last they reach the wizard’s quarters they are greeted by the sight of a young man tidying up the hall. He turns in a heartbeat when the doors swing open and sets down the broom he held with a gasp. Straightening his robes in a hurry, he speaks a moment to Calcelmo, who huffs back a reply in Altmeris. “Yes, of course they are. I should think you would know better. I don’t let just anyone into our rooms. Now, stop gawking and introduce yourself.”

The man bows low, and though he tries to hide it Ralyanis doesn’t miss the shy expression on his face. “I’m Aicantar, Calcelmo’s apprentice. I’m also his nephew, in case you weren’t already aware. I hope you’ll pardon my breach of manners it’s just- well it isn’t every day I get to meet members of a race thought to be dead. It’s such a pleasure to meet you.”

Ralyanis can’t help smiling at his humility. She waits for Virizion to reply first as usual, first for one beat and then two, only to realize an awkward silence has grown because he hasn’t spoken a word. She looks over, spies his faraway expression - eyes studying the man in front of him - and clears her throat.

Thankfully Virizion picks right up on her cue and bows in turn. “Pardon me. But the pleasure is all mine. You and your uncle have offered us a priceless favor, and for this I thank you both. I will treasure every moment I spend in your company.”

A soft cough comes from Tomoichi behind them. Ralyanis lays a hand on Virizion’s shoulder, whispering to him in their native tongue. _“Laying our gratitude on thick, aren’t we?”_ Continuing on to Aicantar with a nod, “I thank you as well, but there’s no need to apologize for being yourself. We’re not royalty, so there’s no need for the utmost decorum at all times. Join us while we eat and we can dispel that notion right away.”

The mood lightens then, with Calcelmo laughing and a red-cheeked smile on Aicantar’s face. They lead the trio to a wide table so they can sit and eat their stew. Calcelmo excuses himself, citing a desire to polish off their first lesson plans, but Aicantar stays to ask a variety of questions about themselves, including Tomoichi.

“Your grasp on the Altmer language is fascinating. The dialect is archaic, which is understandable given your isolation from the world. But there are threads of modernity interspersed within it. Perhaps from your interactions with, um. Tomoichi, isn’t it?”

“Since I was born.” He nods, wiping his mouth with a cloth. “And guilty as charged, I’d say. We’ve been together, oh, say a month now. We’re starting to rub off one one another.”

“I should think so. But how did you two come to learn the language at all? I can’t imagine you lived during the time before the Snow Elves were forced into hiding.”

“No, those who witnessed our flight from our homeland died before we were born.” Virizion sets his spoon over the rim of his emptied bowl. “For a dying race history becomes more important than gold or silver. Even the knowledge of other cultures has its value. My mother, Faelor, oversees the preservation and teaching of all we knew of those we shared a world with. I learned all I could from her and the other historians as an apprentice. The other races’ languages came as a part of my education, some of which I passed to those I was close to, like Ralyanis. Altmeris and Ayleidoon are the easiest for me to speak, though my mother always insists I could be brilliant with the other elven languages.”

“She sounds like a wise woman.” Aicantar wears a dreamy smile on his face while he listens. “And what of you, Tomoichi? I don’t often hear humans speaking elven tongues.”

Tomoichi leans back in his seat. “My family isn’t entirely human. My mother is half Altmer herself, so I’m a quarter through her side of the family. And both sides are big on honoring our roots. So she taught me Altmeris like her parents did with her and my grandfather on my father’s side taught me to wield a blade and defend myself, among other things. I’m grateful for it all; meant I was able to tag along with these two.”

Ralyanis catches him looking at her from the corner of her eye. She nudges his leg under the table, and when he grins at her she hides her own smile with a spoonful of stew.

“Have you learned any Falmer from them in the time you’ve been together?”

Tomoichi shakes his head. “And they use it against me all the time.” She and Virizion both pointedly make themselves busy at the mention and Aicantar laughs. “But I guess it’s only fair since they don’t know Tamrielic yet. I’ve tried to decipher some of what I catch them saying but it’s an entirely different beast compared to Altmeris.”

“Don’t we know it.” Aicantar fiddles with a spare napkin. Ralyanis quirks an eyebrow when she notices his fidgeting. Being a scholar she can imagine he must be eager to write down every word they say. “My uncle found a few texts in one of the dwemer ruins of Eastmarch we could only assume to be the language of the Falmer, likely from before they were changed. But most of what we found was faded. What we _could_ transcribe took months to translate in full. Maybe you two can check the transcriptions some time during your stay and see if our work is accurate. If you didn’t mind, that is.”

Ralyanis meets his eye. “We owe you more than we can ever put into words. If there’s any work we can do to repay our debts I’m sure we would happily do it. All you have to do is ask.”

Aicantar is left breathless, looking between her and Virizion, who nods his agreement, with wide eyes. He sets down the worried cloth and reaches for their hands, his smile so bright and earnest and filled with gratitude that Ralyanis’s heart lifts at the sight of it. “Thank you. It would mean the world to us.”


	6. Harvest's End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man this update took so much longer to finish than intended. I got maybe two pages into the initial draft and realized I _hated_ where it was going and how it was going to slow down the narrative and realized I had to completely rewrite it with a major change in where the story picks up. But I feel it served to reinvigorate my muse, because this chapter is also longer than I thought it would be!

The steady marathon towards fluency grew maddening to Ralyanis. By no accounts an impatient woman, Calcelmo’s daily lessons were not to blame in spite of his lacking the finesse of a proper language tutor. Nor did Markarth itself prove inhospitable, even with the shadow of dwarven influence carved into every stone and the Silver-Bloods breathing down the neck of every resident.

Being confined to the city. Urged by the guards, by Calcelmo and Aicantar, even by her dear friend Virizion not to wander too far into the wilds of the Reach. That frustrated her more than any of her other qualms regarding Markarth. Nigh on three centuries she’d spent isolated from the world with the rest of the survivors at the Temple of Syrabane, and now that she’d fought her way into the open she must bide her time for a few months longer. For the brief week or so Tomoichi spent with them she could distract herself with exploring the city alongside him, but as he’d warned them in Whiterun he could not stay indefinitely. So she’d turned to channeling her longing into her studies. The history of Skyrim. The rise of the Empire and various governing factions throughout Tamriel. Anything to keep busy, and to capitalize on her time in the city of stone.

Eventually the days began to blur together, marked by particular events rather than the count of individual days. The first time each of the Snow Elves successfully held a conversation in Tamrielic with a resident other than Calcelmo or Aicantar. Joining in the festivities on Jester’s Day. Offering to reclaim Kolskeggr Mine for the displaced miners outside the city walls.

The decision to fight the Forsworn who had seized Kolskeggr left a temporary rift between Ralyanis and Virizion, the latter of which preferred remaining neutral in the conflict between the native Reachmen and the Nords and made particular note of Ralyani’s unfamiliarity with fighting member of the Forsworn. But she was persistent on the matter and persuaded a local sellsword to accompany her to the mine. The two managed to catch the intruders by surprise, giving them a much-needed advantage. The workers forced to refuge at Left Hand Mine returned to their work at Kolskeggr two days later, and she and the sellsword were paid a hefty reward by the Jarl for their aid. In the following months Ralyanis continued to pursue bounty work. The risks involved still uneased Virizion, but he expressed his trust in her skills.

When the two’s time wasn’t spent under Calcelmo’s tutelage or seeking work they dedicated it to socializing with the locals. Aesatel’s warnings still echoed in her mind, guiding Ralyanis away from growing too close to the Silver-Bloods or any of the overbearing agents from the Aldmeri Dominion. Instead she found a kinship with residents like Vorstag, the sellsword who reclaimed Kolskeggr Mine with her, and Daighre, a miner living with her young daughter at Left Hand Mine. And when their proficiency with the Tamrielic script was deemed suitable Virizion and Ralyanis wrote often to the friends they had made in Riverwood and Whiterun, where before their correspondence outside of Markarth consisted of informal notes transcribed by Aicantar.

Taziri offered the most consistent updates on the goings-on of her home while they were away, eager to reply with lengthy letters that served as much of a challenge to their prowess with the language as any of Calcelmo’s lessons. She spoke often of her family’s dealings, in particular her parents who were thriving in their old age, and her magical studies independent of the College of Winterhold, which she felt she could not stomach visiting again so soon after the death of the Arch-Mage. Every now and then a letter from Ja’irzu would accompany hers, written scratchily onto a thin sheet that contrasted against Taziri’s flowing, uniform lines and fine parchment. They were no less dear to read, as Ja’irzu’s good humor and easily understood notes warmed her heart.

Keeping in touch with Tomoichi proved to be the trickiest task. The majority of Ralyanis’ letters to him were to be sent to the Sleeping Giant in Riverwood, but near a month could pass before she would receive a reply bearing addresses from anywhere but the sleepy riverside town. A temple in Riften, a small town east of Helgen that Ralyanis had yet to even hear of, an inn south of Dawnstar. All places that Ralyanis could only imagine the reasons for his presence there. He didn’t speak much on the business he and Delphine took part in. Rather, he would describe at length the beautiful locales they visited and how dearly he wished she could join them on their travels. And she replied in kind, lamenting missed opportunities and imparting well wishes to them both. 

So it came to pass that a letter arrived on a breezy evening mid-Last Seed, written from Aesatel of all people announcing that she, her husband Erandur, and Tomoichi would be returning to Markarth at the end of the month. Just in time to celebrate Harvest’s End. Their stay would be brief, at most four days to allow for festivities and recuperation, and she penned her desire for Virizion and Ralyanis to join her on a personal matter outside of Markarth, the details of which would be shared in person. 

Both Snow Elves were eager to see their friends after four months of their absence. Speculations abound in private as to the nature of Aesatel’s request, but Ralyanis secretly knew that unless the request was too far-fetched she would undoubtedly take the chance to leave the stone capital of the Reach.

The city’s preparations leading up to Harvest’s End do nothing to lessen the duo’s anticipation. The perpetual sour mood of the destitute residents of the Warrens turns to relief thanks to the festival’s reduced prices on most food sold during. The promise of free drinks at the inn is also welcome. All of Markarth fills with excitement more with each day that the festival draws near, until it spills over on the 27th of the month.

Aicantar wakes them at dawn the day of, urging them to dress warm. Calcelmo, victim of a long night spent researching, bids they enjoy themselves while he catches up on his sleep. They’re led down empty streets to the city’s gates. A few families join them, as well as a pair of forge workers and beggars hoping for extra coin. The innkeeper’s wife passes pints to the crowd. To chase away the chill, she says, and plenty more waiting in the tavern.

The crowd marches out of the city down to the farms, now bare from the harvest. The owners welcome them and set about distributing crates and baskets of fruit to the volunteers, piling most of the heavier stock onto carts. Ralyanis ends up helping Aicantar balance crates of potatoes in his arms before taking a pair filled with turnips up into the city beside him.

Transporting all of the harvest takes several trips up and down the mountainside. By the time the work is finished near midday the city awakens in full force. The local bard croons an ancient Nordic tune from his perch on one of the upper streets while musicians do their best to accompany him. Small crowds dot the city entertaining themselves by dancing, drinking, or sharing stories of years past. Aicantar leads Virizion into the crowd, leaving Ralyanis to herself. She doesn’t stay alone for long. Erith, Daighre’s daughter, descends on her with a gang of children as soon as she spies her, and the batting of her little eyes is all it takes to convince the elf to join them in a dance. 

Ralyanis is many things: a skilled archer, a competent acrobat, and a disciplined soldier. But a dancer? Hardly. In spite of not understanding the steps Erith leads her through and nearly trampling her tiny partner three times the girl continues to encourage her with glee. Which must mean she’s doing _something_ right.

With the joyful din ringing steady against the mountainside she almost misses a voice crying out, “Ralyanis!”

At first she assumes it must be Aicantar or Virizion calling to her. She slows to a stop in her dance with Erith to peer in the direction she last saw the two only to find they have their backs to her, heading up and away from the marketplace. Through a lull in the chatter around her the voice calls out again, and when she scans the crowd she spies three figures at the city gates, one of which waves her over with a wide, familiar smile.

Breath catching in her throat, she fumbles through excusing herself and darts into the crowd. In her haste she knocks a man’s tankard from his hand but it registers only at the back of her mind. Tomoichi meets her part of the way, laughing when she throws her arms around his neck in an embrace. Had they always fit perfectly together like this? His arms warm at her waist, her head tucked against his so that the sound of his voice settles by her ear, a soothing balm on her spirit. “Easy now, or you’ll break me.”

She pulls away, just enough to offer a smile, and replies in Tamrielic. “I think it would take more than a hug to break you.”

Another laugh bubbles out of him, one of happiness tinged with surprise. And the way he looks at her with bright eyes. She hasn’t been on the receiving end of such pride since last she saw her mother. “Listen to that. I have to admit, it’s strange hearing anything but an elvish language in your voice.”

Ralyanis hums her agreement. “It has taken time to become used to it.”

“I have no doubt you’ll be a natural in no time, as bright as you are.” She chuckles, letting her hands drift lower until they rest against his chest. For a moment it seems the conversation has settled into comfortable silence. Then he eases back into it with a whisper. “I missed you.”

She pauses. Searches misty, brown eyes before replying in kind. “I missed you, too.”

“And I missed you, though I don’t expect to hear the same with such reverence.” Ralyanis startles back a step, remembering in a hot flash of shame that they aren’t alone at this busy festival. Aesatel regards them with a thin-lipped look of amusement.

“Aesatel, it is good to see you.” Ralyanis moves to embrace her. To the man at her side she gives a respectful dip of the head. “You are Erandur, correct?”

The dunmer nods in return, standing at attention. “Indeed I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ralyanis. My wife has mentioned meeting you in the past, but I am honored to do so myself.”

Her expression brightens. The embarrassment of moments before set aside for contentment. A hand brushes against her arm and she turns back towards Tomoichi, whose brows knit together. “Where is Virizion? Has he not joined in the festival?”

“Yes, you two were always joined at the hip.” Aesatel adds.

Ralyanis motions for them to follow her into the crowd. “Most days, but he spends equal time with friends around the city. He and Aicantar were making their way around the festival a moment ago. But I lost track of them when you arrived.” She leads them around to the riverside section of the city, where the songs and cheer dull to an echo bouncing against the cliffs.

From overhead Virizion calls out to them. Sat upon the steps climbing up to the Temple of Dibella, he descends them hand-in-hand with Aicantar. “I wondered when you would arrive. How was your journey?”

“Comparatively speaking, quite dull when I look back on the last time I made the trip to Markarth.” Aesatel nods to them both. “So I’m eager to enjoy myself today. But where are my manners? Virizion this is my husband, Erandur.”

Virizion bows low, to which Erandur tuts. “There’s no need for that. I’m only a man, as you are.” He then turns his attention to Aicantar. “It’s good to see you again. How has your research progressed?”

Always happy to discuss his work, Aicantar replies with a bright smile. “Not without its setbacks, but my uncle and I have made an excellent discovery since last we met. I would hate to bore you with the details out in the street as we are.”

“Perhaps over a round and a bite at the inn, then. We haven’t eaten since daybreak.”

The inn proves to be as rowdy as the crowded streets outside, so the group retreats to the room rented to Aesatel and Erandur to eat and chat in peace. Tales that were shared through brief letters are expanded on in full, and those left unsaid for one reason or another are given a chance to be told at last. The tragedy at the College of Winterhold, which Aesatel and Erandur had been present to witness firsthand. The exciting full translation of an ancient tablet left by the Dwemer written both in the Dwemeris and Falmeris scripts, aided in no small part by Virizion who Aicantar continues to thank now months later. Ralyanis’ forays into bounty work that pique Aesatel’s interest, having begun her career as an adventurer through similar means, and lead into comparisons of the hunts they’ve taken. All culminating in the underlying motive behind the trio’s return to Markarth.

Empty plates sit stacked on the only nightstand in the room. A full belly after a long morning of work lulls Ralyanis into a state of contentment. The six of them have fallen quiet, with only hushed whispers between Erandur and Virizion audible over the dull chatter from the main hall. Aesatel clears her throat before speaking. Ralyanis only just catches the look shared between her and Tomoichi. “Aicantar, I hope you won’t mind but I’d like to have a word with Virizion and Ralyanis in private. I’ll try not to keep them long.”

It’s Virizion who reacts first, a hint of confusion in his tone. “Why dismiss him?”

“This is a delicate matter to discuss. The fewer that are privy to it, the better it will be for all involved. I would not dismiss him were it not absolutely necessary.”

Aicantar, more sensible in his reaction, rests a hand on Virizion’s shoulder. “I don’t mind at all. Besides, I need to see that Calcelmo doesn’t sleep the day away. I’ll be in our study when you’re done.” He stands and bends to kiss Virizion’s brow before departing. Placated, the Snow Elf gives Aesatel his full attention.

“What I plan to share with you is not to be repeated to anyone outside of this room.” The humor that laced her words minutes ago fades into solemnity. At Ralyanis’ side Tomoichi’s posture straightens. “We are not, legally speaking, safe discussing this matter in the Empire. Even knowing the nature of my request could implicate you should the Empire or the Dominion catch wind of your knowledge, and so I understand if you would prefer to remain ignorant of it.”

Surprise and curiosity immediately take hold of her mind. Ralyanis looks first to Tomoichi, whose normally expressive face is blank as slate, then to Virizion. Her old friend appears equally bewildered by the confession. Where months before Aesatel had warned them against crossing the Thalmor, now she wishes to actively involve them in a matter that would be guaranteed to put them at odds with them and the Empire if they are caught.

Virizion rises from his seat, the lines of his face rigid. “You say this with- You don’t-” Finding the still freshly acquired Tamrielic ill-suited to express himself, he switches to Altmeris to accommodate. “With such _nonchalance_ , as if it could ever be appealing to us. We fled isolation imposed upon our people for a crime committed ages before we were born and you would expect us to jeopardize the tentative relationship we have with the outside world-”

“I fully expect you to decline.” Aesatel interrupts him sharply. “Were it not for Tomoichi’s insistence I would never have chosen to involve you in the first place.”

All attention turns to their human companion. To his credit Tomoichi keeps from flinching at the shift of focus onto him. “This is important to me. And if I hadn’t met you two and proved that I can take care of myself and others on the road I might not have this opportunity at all. So yes, aside from trusting you both it felt only right to ask if you wished to accompany us.”

Ralyanis rests her hand over Tomoichi’s. “For all the kindness you’ve shown us I would be happy to repay even a small part of it.”

“How likely are we to be found out if we join you?” Virizion remains unconvinced, his attention returned to Aesatel. 

“If it were likely we already would have been. Few are less keen on finding themselves in chains than I.” Her expression darkens for a split second, so brief that Ralyanis isn’t entirely sure she didn’t imagine it. 

Unsatisfied with her answer, or perhaps with her tone, Virizion moves to stand before Ralyanis. “Raly, please, we cannot risk all that we’ve worked towards for this.”

“All that we’ve worked towards?” Ralyanis scoffs. “We’ve hardly achieved any of what we set out to do. And what little we have achieved would not have been were it not for Aesatel and Tomoichi’s kindness.”

“So we should throw ourselves on a pyre awaiting a spark all for the sake of gratitude!?”

“Virizion, calm yourself-” Tomoichi sputters out, but he goes unheard.

“And what would you call our struggles to reach the outside world? The _weeks_ spent-” Virizion halts again, takes a shuddering breath, and presses on in their mother language. _“The weeks it took to scout a safe passage out of the temple valley. The sunless days in a cave ovverrun by our feral kin.”_

_“What of the_ months _spent here, trapped behind stone walls built by the traitors who enslaved and mutated those kin, all in the name of learning a language we could have picked up anywhere! We came to this land to find a home for our people. Unless you’ve reached an agreement with the Jarl or purchased land I was unaware of then we have made no progress in that time except to study a language you still don’t feel comfortable using!”_

Virizion reels back as though he’s been slapped, a flush of red coloring his cheeks and his mouth twisted in a snarl. In recent memory she can only recall him wielding such ire directed at her once before when she had insisted on helping reclaim Kolskeggr Mine. An echo of his argument from that day rings in his words now, of caution, of inaction, of a deeper, underlying division forming a ravine between them. 

He turns away, schooling his expression when he looks to Aesatel. “Respectfully, I cannot involve myself in such an affair.”

Aesatel takes the news in stride. “As I said, I hadn’t expected you to.”

With that Virizion departs, leaving the room in stilted silence. Erandur, who until now remained detached from the matter, catches his wife’s eye. “Perhaps we should take a moment to cool our heads.”

Ralyanis knows there’s merit in his suggestion but she feels like an overdrawn bow desperate to be released. “No. Enough time has been wasted already. What would you ask of me?”

“Aren’t you spirited? I appreciate your enthusiasm. But I must provide necessary context if you’re willing to wait and listen.” Aesatel lifts a brow, and when no objection is forthcoming she moves to the door to check that they have no eavesdroppers and lock it. “Centuries ago an elite organization known as the Blades was created to serve as personal soldiers and spies to the emperor and each of their successors. And nobly serve they did until a quarter of a century past, after the end of the Great War. I believe you may have learned about the war already during your stay?” Ralyanis nods. “Good. At its end the Empire was given an ultimatum: disband the Blades, among other unfavorable terms, or continue fighting a losing battle. After accepting the ultimatum the Blades were hunted down by the Thalmor for good measure, picked off systematically until almost no trace of them remained throughout Tamriel.”

Ralyanis’ blood runs cold. She knows well that kind of persecution. “Why did they wish them eradicated?”

“Why do the Thalmor do anything? Control.” Aesatel scowls, pacing the length of the room. “Destroying the Blades left the emperor vulnerable, floundering to instate a sub-par replacement in the Penitus Oculatus. They consider it an affront if they don’t have a hand on every piece on the board. Give nothing to an agent of the Thalmor you wouldn’t wish turned against you.” 

“I understand. Though it is still unclear what you need me for.”

“I’m getting there. Patience. The Blades are scattered, but individual members live on. And one of their temples here in the Reach stands untouched by the purge. It holds important information I need. I could brave the wilds myself, but Delphine insists on tagging along, and our dear friend here thought you might enjoy a spot of fresh air.”

Ralyanis blinks at Tomoichi. “I appreciate it, but how did you and Delphine become involved in all of this?”

“Well, Delphine is, or she _was,_ a member of the Blades. When they were disbanded she fled north to survive, and my grandfather had the same idea, bringing his family with him to Rorikstead. They knew each other because of their affiliation with the Blades and… Maybe it’s naive of me, but I want to be part of that legacy, too.” His gaze drops to his hands.

He startles when she joins her hand with his, but he smiles all the same. “I know that desire. My father is Captain of the Temple Guard. Responsible for safeguarding our people from all manner of threats. He inspired me to join the guard in hopes that I could uphold the same oath to protect them.” Ralyani takes in a slow breath. Knowing what she does now, she realizes Virizion ultimately made the right choice for himself. If the Thalmor are half as dangerous as Aesatel has made them out to be then her people will be relying on them to keep up good favor with them. “So you want me along as extra protection.”

“That, and to keep Delphine from thinking that she’s in charge of our little expedition.” Aesatel wrinkles her nose, ignoring the narrow-eyed look she’s given by Tomoichi. “If she wants to relive the glory days that’s one thing, but I am here for one reason alone: to find out how to defeat Alduin.”

The World-Eater. A name Ralyanis has only heard in history lessons about life before her race was forced into exile. When they feared dragons more than mankind. “Alduin lives? How? He ruled the skies of Tamriel in the time of my great-grandmother.”

“I don’t know. No one does. He was defeated once before during the Merethic Era, but he returned a year ago. He razed Helgen to the ground. I saw the chaos with my own eyes.” Aesatel reaches out for Erandur, resting her hand on his shoulder. “He lives, but I will stop him at any cost.”

“Why you?”

“Ralyanis...” Tomoichi starts, but Aesatel silences him with a wave of the hand and a curious look.

“I mean no disrespect. But I fail to see something.” Ralyanis looks to each of the room’s occupants. “Is the Empire itself not involved in this effort? Surely even the Thalmor would seek to be rid of Alduin.”

A sneer crosses Aesatel’s face. “The imperials are much more worried about silencing the Stormcloak rebellion. And I rather think the Thalmor profit from the chaos Alduin has wrought. Besides which, everyone worth asking for help is under the impression _I_ must be the one to face him, being a Dragonborn.”

“At the risk of asking even more questions,” Ralyanis says with a slump in her shoulders. “What does ‘Dragonborn’ mean? Is it a family name?”

Aesatel just smiles, and at her side Erandur chuckles under his breath. “The proper explanation is long-winded, complicated, and wrapped in too much Nordic legend for my taste. A demonstration would be simpler.”

“Come now dear, be honest.” Erandur looks up at her. “You just want to show off.”

Cheeks flushing bright red, she meets his gaze. “And what of it?”

Still confused, Ralyanis takes Tomoichi’s hand when offered to follow their band of adventurers out of the inn.

* * *

 “When you picture a dragon in your mind, what are the key details you usually imagine?”

Gathered outside the city gates, Ralyanis settles onto the grassy shore of the cliffside pond with Erandur and Tomoichi. She takes a moment to consider her answer. In the tomes she’d read that spoke of the ancient beasts they were often depicted in flight, towering over her ancestors’ settlements raining fire and ice on the unsuspecting. “They are enormous in size. They breathe fire, and they have great wings to carry them through the sky.”

Aesatel stands several feet away from them, wearing a look of approval. “Those are the basics, yes.”

“They’re covered in scales.” Tomoichi adds.

“Er, yes that’s also true.”

“And they have long tails.”

“And razor-sharp fangs,” Erandur says, grinning.

“Alright, that’s enough.” She huffs. “Now, because I am Dragonborn - that is, I have the soul of a dragon - they and I share something in common.”

“You’re both scary when you get mad,” Tomoichi grumbles. Scoffing, Ralyanis elbows him. “I mean, you’re both very powerful beings!”

“And graceful.” Erandur offers. “Elegant in all you do.”

The two women share a look, with Aesatel sighing. “Thank you, love. But no, that wasn’t my point. Please ignore them Ralyanis. When a dragon speaks it does so in their own language, but it is one that mortals can learn through years of study. As a Dragonborn I can learn the language faster, as part of my being inherently understands it. Dragons use their language to do much more than speak. With it they can wield the elements and perform feats even the greatest mages of our age could only hope to replicate. And because I have a dragon’s soul and I can learn their language…?”

Realization hits her like a rock slide, and Ralynis’ jaw goes slack. “You must be joking.”

With a coy smile, Aesatel breathes in deep. She tips her head back to face the sky and shouts loud enough to shake the ground beneath them. _“Yol Toor!”_ A potent gout of fire shoots from her mouth, flaring over her audience’s heads before dispersing. 

Ralyanis is too shell-shocked to do more than stare in awe. Beside her Erandur politely claps. “Bravo. Are you satisfied now?”

She takes one look at the stunned Snow Elf and nods. “Quite.”

“I think I’ve found another similarity between you and a dragon.”

“Watch your words, priest.”

Erandur barks out a laugh. “So it’s ‘priest’ now, is it? What happened to ‘dear’? Or ‘darling’ or ‘my love’?” He stands and goes to wrap his arms around her waist. “Is ‘priest’ all I am to you now?”

She turns up her nose, though there is a twinkle in her eye. “That depends on what you have to say.”

“Ah, well. Perhaps I shall keep it to myself.”

Slowly coming down from her stupor, Ralyanis watches them embrace in silence. Their banter reminds her of Virizion’s parents, though their roles are reversed. Faelor loved to see her husband smile, and to entertain Ralyanis’ mother, Aedwen, when her mood soured. Faelor had always been as much a mother to her as Aedwen, and a longing to see them both tugs at her heart.

“Is that the only dragon, er… Phrase that you know?”

“They call them shouts.” Aesatel turns her attention back to Ralyanis. “I know a handful of others, though I understand some better than the rest. I’ve only had a year to learn, and there aren’t exactly books written about them. But that is another story for another day.”

“I see.” Ralyanis hungers to know more, but her head feels stuffed with wool after all of the day’s revelations. Behind the mountainous horizon the sky burns red from the setting sun. The sight of it pulls a yawn from her lips. It feels like days ago when she was woken at dawn to help with the festival rather than hours.

If the couple notice her exhaustion they don’t show it. But Tomoichi offers her an arm to lean on while she climbs to her feet. “If you don’t mind, I think it’s time we head back into the city.”

“Not at all, go enjoy yourselves while you can. We’ll catch up with you back at the inn, unless you’re otherwise preoccupied.” Aesatel waves them off. Before they can go far, though, she calls them back. “Ralyanis! You never gave us an answer.”

“Oh.” She considers her options for a moment, expecting that the nature of the trio’s endeavor might weaken her conviction to join them. To her surprise it does the opposite. If Alduin isn’t slain the world will come to an end, so soon after she and Virizion found hope in this new land. If she has a chance to turn the tide of fate then she feels obligated to take it. “I will help you how I can. I do not know how much of a difference I can make, but I will not stand by and leave you to fight this battle alone.”

A grin settles on the altmer’s lips. “Tidy your affairs in the city. We leave in three days, and I cannot say where we shall go once our business is finished in the Reach.”

They bid farewell and leave the couple to themselves. Neither speaks a word until they reach the city’s gates, at which point Tomoichi looks to her. “Should we rejoin the festivities or would you prefer to return to the keep?”

Neither options appeal to her. She’s had her fill of excitement for the day, but a pit opens in her stomach at the thought of facing Virizion so soon after their argument. “I think I would rather sleep in the Warrens.”

“What do you…” His voice drifts off. Ralyanis won’t look at him, but she can imagine the look of disappointment on his face must match his tone. “You’ll have to talk to him eventually.”

“I know. But I cannot help dreading it.” She closes her eyes. 

“I don’t blame you. I never thought I would see him so upset, and with you no less. But the sooner the air gets cleared the less it will weigh on you both. I remember you telling me the both of you are like family. Surely that will count for something.”

She casts her gaze up to the mountainside, straining to pick out Calcelmo’s study carved into the face of the cliff. Is Virizion there now, waiting for her to return? “I have to hope it will. We cannot afford to remain at odds.”

“Should I come with you?”

“I appreciate the offer, but no. This is a conversation best kept between he and I.” She turns to him wearing a grateful smile. “Thank you for trusting me with your mission. I can’t imagine convincing Delphine to allow it was easy, now that I know more about her.”

“She isn’t so bad as Aesatel has described her.” His lips pinch together in a frown. “She’s had to become guarded out of necessity. So no, it wasn’t easy. But I understand why she would be hesitant to agree.”

Ralyanis shifts on her feet. “My apologies.”

A sigh leaves him. “I’ll be up for a few more hours. If things don’t go well and you’d rather not stay the night there… My door’s open.”

“Okay,” She whispers, starting the slow ascent to Understone Keep.

The stone hall is emptier than she’s seen it in a month. A few guards stand at attention at the main entryways but the majority of the keep’s staff and residents have either left for Harvest’s End or have retreated into the quiet of their quarters. The guards pay her little mind when she passes, but the dwarven automatons in Calcelmo’s museum watch her every step as they always do, an eerie presence which she’s grown used to.

Calcelmo’s voice echoes from the far side of the hall when she reaches his study, along with softer replies from his nephew. Even though he has his focus on moving their inventory of enchanting supplies Aicantar is the first to notice her approach. “Ah, Ralyanis. We wondered when you would return.”

“Yes, I’m very curious to hear whether you enjoyed the festival.” Calcelmo says. “Would you say you’ve had a similar experience among the rest of the Snow Elves? Harvest’s End has long been a time-honored tradition among agrarian cultures throughout all of Tamriel, even if it may not be referred to by the same name. Why I would be more surprised to find that there were no such celebrations among your people.”

Grateful for the distraction, Ralyanis nods. “There are differences in how we organize the event, but it felt very reminiscent of Sercenarcta which we hold on the equinox. I am glad for the opportunity to take part.”

“That’s wonderful to hear. Virizion mentioned earlier that your friends had arrived safe and sound. I imagine it was nice to see them again after so long.”

“Yes, it was. I missed them more than I realized.” She seeks out Aicantar’s gaze. “That reminds me, has Virizion turned in for the evening? I wished to speak with him.”

Aicantar seems to catch her meaning and offers a sympathetic smile. Undoubtedly Virizion has told him all about their spat, given how close they’ve grown during his stay. “He has, but you might catch him before he settles into bed. Will you be turning in as well?”

She nods.

“Then I bid you goodnight.” Calcelmo follows suit and Ralyanis leaves them to their work.

When she eases open the door to hers and Virizion’s chamber she’s met with silence. In the corner of the room he sits before a makeshift altar to Syrabane. Flickering candlelight dances across the pile of soul gems, frost salts, and a well-worn staff laid on its side. His head remains bowed and whispered prayers drift through the enclosed space. If he’s noticed her arrival he won’t show it until he finishes and she won’t sully the day more by disrupting his worship, so she sits on her bed and waits.

Once he’s concluded his prayers Virizion rises from his seat, keeping his back to her. “I want to apologize for my behavior earlier.”

Ralyanis hesitates. “What?”

“I-” He’s caught off by her surprise and glances over his shoulder. “I want to apologize? I was overcome with emotion when we spoke with Aesatel and it led me to act callously. I still have mixed feelings about your involvement with her, but my disagreement was no excuse to lose my temper with you.”

“Viri, you don’t…” She pauses, lets out a huff of a laugh as she stands to approach him. “Thank you. I wanted to apologize as well. I know that you’ve worked hard to get us this far. I should never have belittled your efforts as I did. And I know that you don’t want to know anything about what could stir up trouble, but I thought you should also know… You made the right choice.”

Wariness darkens his expression. “How so?”

“If this all goes wrong we’ll need someone uninvolved to keep the peace. In case any unhappy authorities see our failure as a chance to compromise the safety of our people.”

Virizion hums and sets about extinguishing the candles around his altar. “That’s not as reassuring as you think it is. Does this mean you made your decision? You’ll be joining them?”

With a nod, she crosses back to her bed. “I have, and I don’t regret it.”

“You may yet before all is done.”

“And I will deal with the consequences should it come to pass. But I must go through with it. If I don’t, if we fail, there may be no place in all of Tamriel where our families will be safe.”

He halts in his work. “What do you mean?”

“The World-Eater has returned. Alduin, who ruled Skyrim before our exile.”

“Who is fated to bring the world to an end…” His voice is hollow with disbelief. They are both familiar with the tales surrounding the dragons of old. The Snow Elves rarely put much faith in Nordic legends but the tyranny of the World-Eater’s reign, and the threat he posed to all life, was undeniable. Most of humanity’s exaggerated stories carried more weight when they revolved around the dragon menace.

“Not if we can stop him.”

“Stop Alduin?” Virizion gawks at her. “You would have as much luck stopping the sun from rising each morning.”

“Perhaps, but we must try. Or all of our struggles will have been for nothing. I will not lead our families towards the promise of a new life only for them to be slaughtered by that beast when they arrive.”

Turned away from her, Ralyanis is unable to see her friend’s expression but distress bleeds from his body language, shoulders rising and falling in quick succession with his harried breathing. After several tense minutes he makes his way over to sit beside her. “Nothing about this will ever be easy, will it? It seems even fate is against our mission.”

Ralyanis smiles in spite of his bleak tone. She rests her head on his shoulder. “If it were easy I should think the task would already be done for us. Will you let that stop you, having come so far?” 

“Of course not.” Though his posture has sagged Virizion’s voice sounds as determined as it had the day they first made plans to leave the temple. When he’d stood at the head of the Young Ones who grew weary of accepting an eternity of exile and volunteered to seek out a better future for them all. 

“Good.” She nods, satisfied. “Now go get in your own bed. It’s been a long day and we should both rest.”

Her mothering is met with a groan but he does as he’s told. “Far be it from me to disagree on that. But if my dreams are plagued with fire and dragons you’ll be waking up with an ice wraith under your covers.”

She smiles to herself, too grateful for their return to gentle bickering to be bothered by the threat.


End file.
